the problem with watching new stuff is seeing reactions like "oh this is so creepy, this is so gory, etc" and thinking this is what they get for not watching hannibal (2013)

A Moment Of Peace

Characters: Joyce Byers, Jim Hopper

Warnings: some swearing, brief references to blood and canonical minor character death

Summary: after Eleven closes the Hawkins gate, Hopper tries his best to take care of Joyce. A missing scene from the Season 2 finale.

Author’s Notes: this is my contribution to @crimetimecrow’s spring break ST exchange, a gift for my exchange partner @autisticjoyce / @whats-a-terrarium (I do sincerely apologize for the delay. Turns out finals season coinciding perfectly with multiple family health difficulties halfway across the country really drains my creativity. who knew!) Although it’s my first time writing ST fic, I hope that you enjoy the Joyce/Hopper content! I know it’s not quite hurt/comfort like you asked for but I did try for fluff with a side of angst

Words: 1.8k

-

Hopper isn’t entirely sure how they both ended up here, with blood and dirt and other unpleasant substances staining their clothes and caked into the soles of their shoes, tracking grime over the scuffed linoleum. He’s been scrambling around houses and sheds and forests and a damn nightmare of a lab for what feels like years, riding an adrenaline high the entire time. He’s barely had time to wash most of the blood and grime off his face and hands, much less change.

But here he is, Joyce Byers at his side, standing in front of a reach-in refrigerator full of frozen waffles.

It feels surreal.

It is surreal. This whole thing feels like the fever dream production of some Hollywood director tripping on acid, not real life.

Except it is, and he’s gone from shooting desperately at a horde of those—what had the curly-haired kid called ‘em again?—demon-dogs or something like that—to browsing the local grocery in the space of two hours.

“How many do you think we should get?”

Her voice is subdued, almost as monotone as the low hum of the refrigerator. Her arms are folded over her chest, a tightness lingering in her shoulders as she taps her fingers absentmindedly against her bicep.

He clears his throat. “Uh, maybe four boxes? Five? Do your kids normally eat a lot?”

Not that this is a normal situation, exactly, but Joyce would know the kids’ habits better than him, and that’s a good place to start.

She shrugs, turning her head to look up at him. There’s a quizzical wrinkle in her forehead, for once a question and not a sign of worry. It’s been a while since he’s seen her…not anxious.

“We’ll just put the leftovers in the fridge. I’m not keeping that…that thing.”

Hopper remembers jerking around at the startled scream, whipping out his pistol in case something that gone horribly wrong and the dog monsters were back, only to see Joyce staring wide-eyed at the slimy corpse sliding to the kitchen floor with a wet slunk, wrapped in a blanket that’s probably stained to hell now.

He doesn’t have a clue why Dustin had wanted to keep that thing around. Once the feds come through tomorrow—today, whatever—there won’t be any traces of what really happened. No way they’d let some kid keep evidence of such a major fuck-up, after all. Not if they’re smart, and willing to commit a few regulatory violations. He’s found that they’re often lacking in the first department but a little too committed in the second.

“Anyway.” Joyce clears her throat. “There’ll be space.”

He pulls the fridge door open. “Sure. Let’s just say six boxes then.”

The cashier—some new kid they must’ve recently hired on and had decided to put on the earliest shift for some reason—stares openly, slowly chewing a mouthful of gum.

“Long night?” She asks.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Hopper answers, wishing she’d just check them out faster so he and Joyce could get back to their kids—their respective kids, anyway. Jonathan, Nancy Wheeler, and the Harrington boy are taking care of the other kids, but Hopper would rather keep close to them for a little while, at least until the government shows up and starts patching up their own mess.

Then again, he isn’t exactly looking forward to all the paperwork waiting for him. The bullshit with the unconscious (drugged!!) Hargrove kid, the stolen car, the many parents he was going to have to explain shit too, the scrutiny of a whole town that was going to fall on this incident one way or another—sure, most of it wasn’t his problem (the kids had a real bad habit of recklessly endangering themselves but he was the one responsible for them, because Joyce was just trying to protect her boy and he understands that, really, but it’s just so much to smooth over—)

But he’s an adult and he can take responsibility. Hopefully later, when the headache pulsing behind his eyes has worn off.

He doesn’t realize that the cashier is asking him to pay, more flatly bored than irritated, until she raps her knuckles on the cash register.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, reaching for his wallet on autopilot.

It’s like that the whole way back to Joyce’s house, too. Scattered. Distracted. Fidgety. Like his thoughts are all jumbled up in his head and he can’t get them sorted out properly.

The roads are empty and dark. Quiet. He doesn’t start up conversation, and neither does Joyce, a stack of yellow boxes cradled in her arms. She’s got that look again—like she’s staring straight through the forest, through the sky, through the whole universe, and for all that, sees nothing at all.

She’s right next to him, curled up in the passenger’s seat, but it feels like he could reach over and his hand would go straight through her.

He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what he needs to say that hasn’t already been said. She’d volunteered to go with him so he wouldn’t be on his own—just in case. And he appreciates it, obviously, but he wonders if she’d be happier with her kids, now that Will’s…better, and everything’s finally calmed down and everyone is…okay.

Except for Bob Newby.

Black hole, he thinks, then no. They’re okay now. We got most of them out, and we’ll get through the fallout together too.

“You can only ever take life one step at a time.”

His hands tighten on the wheel. He can’t think of Diane right now. What good would it do him, or Joyce, or the kids?

But yeah, she was right. And right now, the next step is getting the kids to eat.

Not like that’s hard, either. He and Joyce had only left the others because Eleven—El—Jane, whatever she wanted to be called now after her…trip—asked him for Eggos.

What else was he supposed to do? He’d carried her off the elevator, mechanically climbed the stairs, guided her face into his shoulder so she didn’t have to see all the destruction and the blood, gotten her safely out of the cloying smell of rot that infused the lab’s every hallway, and bundled her into the car as the first federal agents finally showed up. Slumped behind the wheel, not-so-silently cursing bureaucracy, he’d flinched when Eleven put her hand weakly over his.

Ignoring the officer rapping on the window, she’d met Hopper’s eyes, bloody tears drying against her cheeks, and whispered, “Home.”

And that was what really mattered in the end, not barely restraining himself from yelling at the officers, not seeing a motionless Dr. Owens carried out on a stretcher, not the stench of blood seeping from the open doors. He can’t change any of that.

Hopper had wanted to take Eleven to the hospital after the abbreviated interrogation was over, unsure if she had internal bleeding or had inhaled toxic fumes or some shit like that, but she had been adamant to avoid it. So instead, he’d broken multiple traffic safety laws to get Eleven back to the Byers’ house to check on the other kids, spent a head-splitting half hour on the phone with his deputies…and then taken an impromptu trip to the grocery.

Totally normal.

God, maybe he really is going crazy.

But standing by a table with too few chairs and watching the kids dig enthusiastically into their waffles, he feels the most normal that he’s felt in a while now. The kids chatter quietly amongst themselves, and the teens have already taken down most of the drawings plastered to the walls of the kitchen and living room areas, so it really feels…normal. Safe.

It’s…pleasant.

Except for the fact that Joyce is wrapped in a blanket in the living room, gazing dazedly into the mug of tea in her hands, and Hopper doesn’t know how to help her.

The couch creaks when he sits down next to her.

“How are you holding up?” He murmurs, half question, half simple desire to break the silence.

Joyce shrugs a little. “I’ll be okay.” She scrubs a palm over her eyes, then sighs. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

It’s definitely not all, but he won’t push.

“Well.” Hopper pauses awkwardly. “You know that if you need anything, I’m around.”

She sniffs. “I know, Jim.”

“Uh. Yeah.” He stares down at his hands, washed clean and bandaged. But there’s still dirt under his fingernails. Probably some worse things, too.

My watch is broken, he thinks dully. Frozen at a quarter to three. It’s more like…seven, maybe, no—earlier. Six thirty or something.

Neither of them are going to get any sleep just yet. And soon, they’re going to have to give statements to the officers whenever they decide to show up and swarm the house for evidence (to cover it all up, of course). He’s going to have to talk the Hargroves down after both their kids went missing for a whole night. He’s going to have to do so much paperwork that his headache pulses harder just thinking about it.

But for now…

“Hey, uh, Joyce,” he says, coughing midway through when his throat closes up. “It’s almost sunrise.”

She blinks up at him. “Okay?”

Hopper stands and holds out his hand. “Wanna sit on the roof and watch it with me?”

There’s a very long pause, and then her hand slides into his. “Sure, Jim.” Her voice wobbles a little.

-

It’s peaceful up there, sitting side by side, wrapped in blankets in the early morning chill.

“You know,” he starts, eyes fixed on the edge of the horizon where the sun is starting to lighten the sky. “I always thought you were…cool.”

Her clothes rustle softly as she turns her head towards him.

“Maybe not in the, uh…not ‘cool’ cool like Eleven’s new look, but just…cool.”

God, that sounded pathetic.

But when he turns to look at her, Joyce is smiling. Just barely, but it’s still a smile.

So maybe she gets what he was trying to say.

“Yeah?”

Hopper swallows. “Yeah. You’re determined, and strong, and a great mom. You never just give up, and you’re—you’re fuckin’ brave. Always have been.”

The smile widens, tears glittering in her eyes. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Yeah,” he breathes again. “No problem.”

After a moment, she slides closer to him, and when she leans her head on his shoulder, he wraps his arm around her.

He’s never really been one for the whole “poetic symbolism,” “new-beginnings-fresh-starts-light-means-hope” mumbo jumbo. A sunrise is just a sunrise. It’s a normal part of a normal life, that’s all.

But his kid did just stitch up a hole in the fabric of the universe with just her mind.

So maybe, just for today, a sunrise can mean that they’re going to be alright.

-

SCP Academia Containment Breach

Reader: F

Characters: Aizawa Shouta (main); Shigaraki Tomura

Rating: M

Summary: Dr. L/N tries to find somewhere safe during a containment breach. 

Length: 1604 words

Warning: Yandere, mentions of death, mild dub-con/non-con.

Hurried footsteps carried you down the dim hallway. The only light source coming from the red alarms periodically placed along the corridor. Sirens blared overhead as you clutched your files closer to your body.

CONTAINMENT BREACH. ALERT CONTAINMENT BREACH. ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO YOUR DESIGNATED SAFE ZONE.

KNOWN ESCAPED SCPS INCLUDE…

You listened as the automated message listed off a series of varying classed SCP’s, straining to hear if any of them were assigned to you. If you made it through this alive maybe you’d consider resigning. They say memory wipes aren’t so bad.

No, you couldn’t leave. You had seen the way SCP’s were treated, you couldn’t abandon the few you were in charge of. Leaving them behind to someone cruel just didn’t sit right with you.

You were approaching a four way intersection in the compound, you’d need to take a left if you wanted to get to his enclosure. A rather interesting male humanoid SCP you had dubbed “Eraserhead”. You were too far away from any safe zones, he was your only bet at survival.

Reaching the intersection you moved to turn left before stopping dead in your tracks. Guttural screams and snarls echoed down the poorly lit hallway. It sounded as if some SCP’s were fighting, and since you didn’t know if Eraserhead had breached containment you didn’t want to test your luck and end up dead.

To your right gunshots and more screaming discouraged you from going that way. You’d have to go straight, or back the way you came. Behind you was a dead end in the facility, that being your small section for testing and personal office. You’d be screwed if anything came down that way and cornered you, so you decided to go straight.

You were running now, panting as you attempted to fill your lungs with oxygen as you descended further into the foundation, away from your zone of expertise. As you progressed deeper into the facility the sounds of gun shots and screaming became quieter. Even the overhead message had ceased playing, leaving only the blinking lights of the alarms to illuminate your path.

Squinting as you ran you saw a form slumped over on the ground. Honestly you don’t really know how you had managed to make it this far without bumping into anyone else. Running up to them you recognized the uniform they were wearing. A Class-D Personnel. Humans typically on death row, brought here instead to die some cruel and unusual way all in the name of science.

You slowed down as you approached their body, intent on checking if they were alive but stopping just before you fully reached them. Their head and arms were completely missing, but there were no traces of blood. Instead, black ash surrounded them, as if their body parts had been reduced to dust. Unfortunately for you, you knew exactly who the culprit was.

Your hairs stood on end as a raspy cackle sounded above you.

“Ahhh Dr. L/N, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

You jumped back from the corpse, yelping and dropping your files. The papers scattered all over the floor. You looked up to see one of your assigned SCP’s smiling down at you, sharp teeth seemingly glowing despite the dim light of the hallway. Curse this stupid power outage, you didn’t even see him.

“De.. Decay what are you doing here..” you mumbled the nickname you had given him pathetically as you began to step further back. As if it was even possible his grin grew wider, chapped lips cracking as his red eyes squinted in delight.

“No need to be afraid little human, you’ve always been so good to me. I’d never dream of hurting you.” With that he fell down from the ceiling with a thud. Standing up to his full height he opened all six of his arms, as if inviting you in for a hug. His blue hair fell messily over part of his face.

“In fact I was just on my way to find you! Thank you for saving me the trouble…” He began to shuffle closer, slowly approaching your smaller frame as if you’d bolt at any second. Which, to be fair, you would have if you believed you stood a chance.

“Me? Why on Earth were you looking for me?” you asked while frozen in place as he continued to approach. If any of his hands got five fingers on you, you were in for a bad time.

“You’re kidding right?” he questioned. “All humans do is poke and probe at me, treat me like shit, hurt me, experiment on me,” he snarled. “But you…” he continued in a softer tone, his hands reaching out for you. “You talk to me, make sure I’m okay. Treat me like I fucking mean something… like I exist. Such a sweet little human… but you’re always behind that stupid glass. Glass I can’t fucking decay. But now I’m free. No, no, I won’t hurt you. I want to touch you.. I want..”

The SCP stopped mid sentence, his eyes taking on a far more sinister appearance as he snarled at the space behind you. He lunged for you, desperate to get you in his arms. Suddenly, something wrapped around your waist and you couldn’t help but scream as you were quickly dragged away from the six armed creature. Your back crashed into a broad chest as black tendrils violently whipped around the hallway.

“GIVE HER BACK!” The creature rushed forwards fully intent on dusting the bastard who dared to take you away. His hands wrapped around the tendrils, ready to plow straight through. Much to his surprise nothing happened, except him violently being thrown back.

Bright red eyes cut through the darkness of the hallway, penetrating the fallen creatures own red orbs.

“Back off or I’ll kill you.” A deep voice rumbled against your back.

“Eraserhead!” you exclaimed in relief. While Decay was known to turn anyone who got to close to ash with violent outbursts, the SCP behind you was far calmer in nature. That didn’t make him any less dangerous, but between the two you’d pick him any day.

“Dr. L/N will be coming with me. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t follow.”

Decay hissed in anger but backed down. Eraserhead had a far larger stature than the other male. With his tendrils filling the hallway, as well as the inability to currently dust the man, the extra arms made no real difference in a battle.

“You best watch your back… you and I both know I’m not the most dangerous thing around here…” With that the blue hair creature slunk down the hallway, off to go decay whatever was unfortunate enough to cross his path.

You released a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding and slumped backwards against Eraserhead.

“Thank you, you really saved me aha,” you nervously chuckled. Craning your head back you peered up at the large male, his bloodshot eyes gazing down at you. The tendrils filling the hallway retreated back into his form, large black lines that almost resembled scars housed them all over his body.

“You shouldn’t have left your area, I would have come to you. Others momentarily got in the way, but not anymore.” With that he scooped you up. You squeaked out in surprise as he carried you bridal style in his arms. You were too exhausted to fight against his decision to carry you.

“That rectangular piece of plastic you use to enter and exit my area, where is it?” The creature asked.

“My key card? In my pocket where it always is, why would you need it? You’re already out.”

“There are still doors I can’t open without it, and we’re not out enough. It’s not safe here. I need to take you somewhere safe for us to nest.”

You gawked a bit at his statement “Wait, nest? What are you talking about? You can’t get all the way out this facility, it’s impossible. Look, let's just go back to my office and lie low I promise I won’t let them hurt you.”

The creature couldn’t help but scoff at your remark. “Little one, I’m far stronger than I appear. I’m taking you out of here to protect and mate, and with your key card we can open any door we need… you said so yourself a couple months back. Full access level 5 whatever.”

At this you began to struggle a bit. Mating? Nesting? What the hell was he going on about.

“Eraserhead no. I don’t understand, but we can’t leave.”

The tall figure sighed, as if he was merely reprimanding a child. “I didn’t want to do this but I need your full cooperation. Don’t worry, next time you see me we’ll be somewhere safe my little human.”

With that he leaned down and latched his mouth onto your own. You cried out in shock, and he took advantage of your surprise to slip his long appendage into your mouth. He threaded his hand into your hair and slotted your head back, and soon enough you felt hot liquid begin to seep down your throat.

Your struggling increased, small fists pounding against his chest. You had no idea he was even capable of doing this, what the hell was going on! The longer he held you there the sooner you realized you had no choice but to swallow the warm fluid. Satisfied that you finally drank it he pulled back and you desperately gasped for air. Your vision became hazy, until finally you fell limp in his arms.

significance.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 26. Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you” + 47. “I’ve been in love with you for years”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,118 words

Warning: Swearing, violence

His head feels like it’s been split open, the rest of his body feels like one giant bruise and the Handler’s daughter has her fancy leather boot on his fucking throat.

Five couldn’t be less surprised by his luck.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

He forces in just enough breath to answer her. “Eat shit and die …!”

The reaction is worth it. Lila lets out a furious cry, gritting her teeth and bringing her foot down even harder – and in doing so, changes her center of gravity. Opportunity. Five digs his nails into that damned shoe and pushes upwards. The sudden force sends her flying, and he can breathe again.

Fighting the ache in his bones, Five stumbles to his feet as she does the same. “Come on,” he pants, readying his stance as the woman turns to face him again. “What are you waiting for? Let’s finish this thing.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, sniffling. “This isn’t gonna be quick. You are going to suffer for what you did.”

Suffer? For Christ’s sake – Five scoffs and drops his hands. “Lady, I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ronnie and Anita Gill.”

“Mean nothing to me.”

“1993, East London.” Lila continues to stare at him like he knows what the hell she’s talking about. “You hog-tied them and you shot them in the head.”

Five narrows his eyes; it’s very possible that she’s just bullshitting him. But despite the rationality of just ignoring her and going for the kill, he searches his memories anyway. 1993, East London. Hog-tied. Tables overturned, the pleas of a couple inside a tiny flat in the middle of the night. Yes, wait – he does remember. 1993, toys strewn everywhere – he told you to close your eyes but you didn’t – East London, two quick shots –

“We had no choice.”

“I know. But …”

“The flower merchants,” he murmurs. Five looks at her with wide eyes. “They were your parents …!”

“And they never did anything to anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

The Handler ordered him to kill Lila’s parents. Lila, who has powers like them. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Absorbing this newfound information, Five attempts to talk the woman down as he fills out the rest of the picture. “You’re right, alright? I killed them. But I killed a lot of people over the years. It was all just a job. Alright? That was never personal.”

At that, Lila laughs. “‘Never personal,’ my ass,” she sneers. “Yeah, I’ve killed – it’s always, always personal.”

“That’s why you’re not cut out to be an assassin.”

She yanks a knife out of her boot as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Bet your life on that?”

Right then, a shadow moves in the doorway to the barn. Five immediately knows who it is, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“Lila!” Your voice is firm and taunting.

Shit. Shit!

Without hesitation, Five lunges for the knife, only to find himself grabbing at air as Lila reappears behind you. The blade is pressed against your neck before he can even shout your name.

Five clenches his fists as he meets your eyes. Your expression is stony, hands stiffly grasping at Lila’s arm. Jesus Christ, just a little energy to blink – nothing –!

Fucking shit!

“Let her go.”

—

The bearded man smiles. “Sorry, no can do.”

The alley is frigid and dark, the air damp and rotting. He doesn’t move a muscle. In front of him, you breathe steadily, in and out, not saying a word. The steel barrel pressed flush to your temple mirrors the one against his.

“Just hand over your valuables and that briefcase, and we can be on our way.”

“Sorry,” you say, voice steady and cold. (It makes him proud.) “Everything stays with us.”

He looks at you. You blink.

Within the next half-second, he’s knocked your captor to the ground and the two of you are aiming the guns at their previous owners. They raise their hands almost immediately. Exactly like the exercise from his youth.

Another half-second, and both of you pull the triggers.

Five stares down at the corpse now lying on the ground. Then he straightens his tie and turns to you.

You’re still pointing the gun at the other target. His frown softens.

“[Y/n].”

Putting a hand on your arm, he notes how you stiffen, snapping out of whatever zone you had been in. You meet his eyes and breathe in sharply, then relax.

“We’re done.” You frame the question as more of a statement as Five takes the former thief’s gun from you.

“For the night,” he affirms, holding your gaze curiously. “You good?”

You wet your lips and tuck your weapon away. “I’m okay,” you eventually reply. He raises an eyebrow; your mouth twitches. “I just – well, you’re taking this whole assassin thing a lot better than I am. Pointing guns and shooting and killing for real, and – and all that pizzazz.”

“I was a member of the Umbrella Academy,” Five points out dryly. “Thirteen more years of formal training and being able to spatial jump gives me somewhat of an advantage.”

“… That’s true.” Still, you seem unsettled. “Five, you’re okay with this? We’re … killing people.”

“No. But we have no other option,” he says. “It’s only until I figure out how to get us back, alright?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”

The pair of you leave the alley, leaving the targets there to be found by the police. The fact that they had a gun pointed at your head should make him feel better about it. They were already criminals, too. Self-defense instead of cold-blooded “corrections.”

There’s still a bitter taste in his mouth anyway.

“You hold your own pretty well,” he murmurs after a while, trying to distract himself.

You grant him a small, knowing smile. “Thanks,” you say, taking his arm as the pair of you walk the rest of the way to the motel. “I had a good teacher while I was stuck in the ruins of the apocalypse.”

He hums. “Weren’t you lucky?”

Your hand tightens around the sleeve of his tailored suit.

“The luckiest.”

—

He’s going to kill her.

Teeth bared, Five starts toward her, only to stop short when Lila presses the blade harder against your throat.

“Not another step, Five,” she warns him, her grip tightening. “Or you’ll both regret it.”

“She’s not responsible for what happened. I was the one who killed them!”

“But she didn’t stop you, did she?”

Five struggles to control his rage. The knife is sharp and black underneath your jaw, ready to draw blood at a moment’s notice.

You inhale shallowly. “Lila,” you rasp.

“Don’t speak.”

“Look,” Five forces out as evenly as he can, catching the woman’s attention again. He can’t take his eyes off that goddamn knife. Five can almost feel the edge cutting into his own skin. “You wanna blame someone, blame the Handler, alright? She faked the kill order.”

“Bullshit! I saw the kill order. AJ Carmichael ordered it, and you and [Y/n] carried it out.”

“Lila, listen to what I’m telling you, alright? The Handler gave us the kill order. She came on the job, which she’d never done before.” He unclenches his fists with unwilling, trembling fingers. His mind is reeling. “You’re Commission. You know execs never go on jobs, but that day in London, she was there. Ask yourself why –”

“Stop trying to muddy the waters.”

Five swallows, pulse racing. He rips his eyes away from your neck to gauge Lila’s expression. Doubt is beginning to bleed into it, and he manages to keep his tone level.

Focus on completing the picture. No sudden movements.

“Think about it, Lila. It all makes sense.”

Lila’s grip on the knife relaxes by the smallest amount. She hesitates for a moment before speaking. “What?”

“She never cared about your parents. She was looking for you.”

What little is left of her anger melts off Lila’s face. For the first time, the girl looks completely vulnerable. And it’s not a farce.

“Why?” she whispers.

Come on …

“‘Cause you’re one of us.”

Lila whips her head around when Diego cuts through the silence, holding you even more tightly against herself. Five’s gaze snaps back to the knife again and he swears internally.

Dammit, Diego, you better have a plan!

“The Handler stole you, Lila. Just like our asshole father took all of us,” his brother explains carefully.

“No. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. Because he didn’t have our parents murdered.” Diego approaches her, staying low to the ground, hands outstretched. “Listen to me, Lila. You were born October 1, 1989, the same day as all of us.”

The rest of his siblings close in on Lila, slowly, warily. The movement sends her into a panic, and she cuts a little into your neck. You let out half of a gasp and swallow the rest of it, but it’s enough.

Five sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

“STAY BACK!”

“Five! Back off!” Diego shouts. Chest heaving and blood roaring in his ears, Five looks at him and then at your sweaty, frozen face – and against every fiber of his being, he listens and backs off, glaring venomously as his brother then turns to Lila again. “Lila? Lila, stop. Let her go.”

She turns her head from side to side, knuckles white as she keeps the knife against your throat. “No,” she chokes. “Diego, you don’t understand. They killed my parents. They took my life away from me.”

Five seethes. “For the last time, it was nothing personal –"

“And it was wrong. I know.” Diego’s eyes flit to Five’s, silently reprimanding. “You want to make them pay for what they did. But killing [Y/n]’s not gonna bring your parents back. You know that.”

“It’s not about bringing them back.”

He nods once, softly. “You’re right. It’s about justice. Honoring their memory.” Diego’s voice is gentle. “Trust me, Lila, I get it. I lost someone to the Commission too. She wasn’t family, but she was my friend, and I cared about her. She wasn’t supposed to die. She didn’t deserve to die. But she did.”

As Diego continues talking, Five keeps his guard up on the other side, watching and waiting for a contraction of a muscle, a single forewarning of violence. If another drop of your blood stains that blade, shit, he’ll kill the woman with his own two hands, Diego’s feelings be damned.

Tightening his jaw, Five shifts on his feet as he looks at you. You stare back with calm eyes – just like that night in the alley, but this time, with no signal for him to make a move.

Goddammit, they should’ve gotten you to safety by now!

“… Just think about whether taking another life would honor their memory. [Y/n] deserves a chance to start over, live a peaceful life with people she cares about. And so do you.”

Lila’s trembling. Yet, she refuses to budge. “If it weren’t for her and Five,” she whispers, “I wouldn’t need that second chance. I would have been all alone if Mum hadn’t found me that night.”

“But there’s a reason she found you. She’s using you, Lila. The Handler.”

“You’re wrong. She raised me.” Lila pauses, then asserts, “She loves me.”

“She’s dangerous,” Diego emphasizes. “And you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power. That’s why you dragged me to the Commission. Because I know what it’s like to love dangerous people.”

—

“Oh, my.” The Handler puts a hand on his shoulder, hovering behind him. “One hundred and forty-three kills on the simulation? That’s a new record. Very, very good, Five.”

Five bristles at her closeness, but he doesn’t move away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of unnerving him. “Thanks,” he says tersely.

“Tell me, Five. From what I’ve seen during your training, you’d be a lot more efficient in the field if you were a one-man team. Working alone is when you work best.”

“I’m partnering up with [Y/n].”

“And you’ve filled out the paperwork and everything, I know. I know. But I implore you to think about it logically,” the Handler tells him, leading him down the hallway. “[Y/n] has highly marked assessments, but frankly, they’re nowhere near your level.” She raises her eyebrows at him and blows out a stream of smoke. “Forgive me for assuming, but perhaps this is less about a partnership that would benefit the Commission and more about your personal … relationship.”

Five smiles thinly at her. “With all due respect, we’ve worked together for years. Almost forty years, in fact. I can assure you that our partnership will deliver more than satisfactory results.”

The woman just hums serenely, eyebrows still raised and cigarette holder between her lips as he faces her. Behind her, he sees you approaching.

“Excuse me,” he says politely.

As he sidesteps the Handler to meet you halfway, your shared employer calls out to him, voice ringing through the sparse crowd of Commission drones. “You’re a dangerous man, Five,” she drawls, “and this is a dangerous job. If you want to protect someone, we won’t stop you, but don’t let it endanger this opportunity we’ve so generously provided. To the both of you.”

“Duly noted,” Five replies over his shoulder, walking away with you. He can hear the Handler’s heels click against the floor as she goes on her way as well.

“She’s suspicious about us partnering up, isn’t she?” you ask him lowly.

He frowns. “I would be too if I were her. But we have to stay together.”

“Well.” You reach up to adjust his hat, tilting it slightly. “In any case, I’m pulling my own weight in the field. Just like in the apocalypse. No one-sided protection.”

“[Y/n], this is different from the apocalypse. We’re not dealing with food shortages or bad weather – we’re dealing with people.”

“All the more reason for you to trust me.” Despite your usual controlled tone and mien, he sees the way that your eyes glint. “I’m kinda dangerous myself, Five. Especially for the people I love, and I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Five sighs.

“You’re so sappy, you know that?”

(Nevertheless, he finds himself mumbling those four words, just loud enough for only you to hear.)

—

“Difference is …” Diego glances around at their siblings, then looks down, “they love me back.”

“Shut up.”

“The only thing she loves is power. Now, the minute she can’t use you, she will turn on you, and deep down, I know you know that.”

She tilts the knife against your neck. Five sucks in a breath, his heart pounding.

“You don’t know me, Diego.” Lila’s voice is hoarse.

Diego steps closer. He lifts a hand to cover hers over the knife.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. “I know that we can be your family. If you just let us.”

Lila’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears. Hesitantly, she turns her head to look around at his family, and in that moment, Five has a cautious inkling that Diego’s words actually got through to her. She doesn’t resist when Diego pulls her hand gently.

When she releases you, he almost feels weak with relief.

Five murmurs your name as you stagger over to him; you grab his arms, and he raises his hands to hold your face between them.

“Shit,” he breathes, “[Y/n] –”

“I’m okay,” he hears you say, but his ears are ringing and your skin is cold and shit, your neck – delicately, Five tilts your head back, and you attempt to brush his hands away. “Five, it’s – it’s just a scratch …”

His fingers brush against a wetness on your skin. You wince, almost imperceptibly. He draws back to look at his hand, and when he sees the blood on his fingertips, your blood, the wave of relief crashing onto him abruptly morphs back into rage.

Before you can pull him back, Five lunges at Lila.

Gunshots echo throughout the barn.

—

You’re smiling.

—

He wakes up, gasping for breath.

“Oh, good! You’re still alive,” the Handler says, looming over him. Her lipstick is bright red through the dizzying blurs. “Lucky you. You got to see how this all played out.”

Grappling for air, Five tries to speak – tries to give one last word, to finally tell the damned snake to fuck off as he stares into the barrel of her automatic. But it hurts to breathe and he can’t. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts. His tongue feels like lead and his throat is closed up. All he can do is look.

But before she can pull the trigger, he hears gunfire.

Bullets rend flesh that isn’t his. Five’s eyes widen, stunned; the Handler gasps sharply. She turns. More gunfire.

She falls.

Shit, that could only mean.… Five struggles to lift his head, almost blacking out from the pain as the gunman approaches, crushing straw underfoot. A shadow falls over him.

The Swede silently tilts his gun down at his face, and he realizes: they are both the last ones. Everyone else is dead. The Swede’s brothers. The Handler. Lila. His siblings. You.

This is the end.

(This doesn’t have to be the end.)

… Five blinks, numb.

(You’re the one who got us stuck here.)

Unless …

(Seconds. Not decades.)

Seconds.

His lungs burn. Hope blooms in his chest.

(C’mon, Five.)

Concentrate. Hands clenching sluggishly, Five focuses on gaining back the feeling in them. Seconds, not decades. A familiar, electric buzz thrums through his bones, warm, crackling with energy. His hands begin to glow. Blue envelops them like they had so many times before.

It happens slowly, time reversing itself like molasses oozing back into a jar. The Swede lowers his arm and retreats. Bodies begin to rise. Five feels himself getting pushed up, and his feet touch the ground; he presses forward, running, refusing to look back. The sharp pains recede to a singular ache.

Seconds.

Seconds.

He breaks through behind the barn door with a gasp. Air fills his chest, full and crisp.

Immediately, Five looks back at you and everyone else, standing and breathing, and pats himself just to make sure.

Holy shit.

Spotting movement outside, Five leaps at the Handler just as she walks in, seizing her weapon and turning it on her. His finger curls at the trigger. She raises her hands in surrender, lips pursed.

Got you, you son of a bitch.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What Five said,” he hears Lila ask. He doesn’t dare look away from her mother, meeting her poisonous glare with an equally cold one. “Answer me! Is it true?”

The Handler takes in a breath. “Well –”

Before she can finish her sentence, blood sprays out from her chest. She collapses. Dead.

The Swede. Five stares at her body, gun lowering. There’s a pregnant pause, void of any air – and then in his periphery, Lila shoots forward.

Luther charges after her. “The case!”

“No!”

Diego tackles him to the ground. Lila disappears in a flash of blue.

One dead, one missing. Neither of which are you or his siblings. There might be hope for them yet. Rolling his shoulders, Five turns his attention to the rogue assassin, cocking his gun and pointing it at him. The Swede reciprocates.

Nobody utters a word, for fear that it may be their last. But as Five feels the weight of the automatic in his arms, he wonders, suddenly, just how much he has in common with this man. A forgotten humanity. The death of their families. The force of a person with nothing to lose.

Except in the Swede’s case, he has no chance of gaining back what he had lost.

This is the end.

Five takes his finger off the trigger, then after a brief hesitation, lets go of the gun.

“Enough,” he says.

Nothing happens at first. The only sign that the man heard him is how he looks away from Five, surveying the rest of the barn’s occupants.

Five returns his gaze firmly, muscles tense, when he meets it again. The Swede regards him for another moment, then finally speaks.

“Inte mer.”

He drops his weapon. No more killing.

—

After Vanya helps the kid and calms him down, she goes with him and Sissy to help them pack up. Everyone else exits the barn as well to rest up and say their goodbyes before leaving, save for Diego, who talks to Herb and Dot with you and Five before joining the rest of the group at the house.

As soon as everything seems like it’s on track, Five brings you straight to the bathroom before you can protest.

“Five, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

In a familiar turn of events, you’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, sulking as he cleans the rest of the dried blood from your neck. Five scowls as he inspects the thin, rough scab underneath your jaw. For shit’s sake, it’s more than a ‘scratch’ – but at the very least, the cut wasn’t deep enough to cause too much bleeding.

Obviously, he’d have preferred it if you hadn’t gotten cut at all.

“She could’ve killed you.”

“I know,” you murmur. He glares at you softly, and you reach over to hold his hand. “Sorry for worrying you.”

Five scoffs, shaking his head. “Worrying me? I was damn well past worrying when she –” At that moment, he makes the mistake of seeing the guilt in your eyes, and he sighs. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You shrug quietly as he opens a large Band-Aid. “That I had to do something to keep you safe.”

“At your expense?”

Your miniscule smile changes into a grimace for a split second when he sticks the bandage on, but it returns immediately after. “You would’ve done the same thing, Five.”

All he can retort with is a displeased huff.

Silently, you stand up and turn him around, urging him to sit down this time as you pluck another hand towel from the stack that Vanya had given the two of you. Five sits still, mouth shut and eyes watching, as you start cleaning his face. Your expression is tender. A familiar feeling wells up inside of him.

Suddenly, you chuckle.

“What?”

“It’s just – if I didn’t know any better,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly grimy spot on his cheek, “I’d think that you were a schoolboy that just got into a fight and lost.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, good thing that you do know better, because I obviously would’ve won.”

“Obviously.” Your eyes glint, like they have so many times before.

—

“How bad does it hurt?”

Your hand is soft in his as he glances at his wrist, propped up on a stack of books, then into the small fire burning a few feet away. “Not that much,” he answers. “Thanks for splinting it.”

“Thanks for talking me through it.” You breathe in, head on his shoulder, testing the words on your tongue before you continue. “I was worried. I’m glad it’s feeling better.”

A wrist sprain is nothing to write home about, figuratively speaking. It’s more of an inconvenience than an actual concern; Five figures that the injury will heal in a week, a week and a half at the most. Frankly, he’s more concerned about how much longer it’ll take to complete daily tasks in the meantime.

… You, on the other hand – well, he wonders if you’ve ever gotten anything more than a few cuts and scrapes growing up. The closest he had ever seen you get to panicking was after he fell today, and you’ve been wandering around with him for years.

In a strange way, Five thinks, he was glad for it. He is glad for you. Glad for your presence, your level head. He is glad for the way you hold his hand and talk to him during the day and after dark. And he is glad, secretly, that you want to protect him just like he wants to protect you.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, rough and unbidden.

Five holds his breath when they echo in his ears. You stop tapping your fingers over his skin. Perhaps that’s a bad thing. It was not a mistake, of course, and he isn’t going to take it back, but if that wasn’t what you were saying this whole time – shit. He lets go of your hand, his throat scratchy and strangely closed up.

But then – your fingertips brush his face. He swallows.

“I love you too.”

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader VII

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Chapter VII

Word Count: 6700

[Chapter VI] [Chapter VIII]

Summary: After somehow reconciling with Adler, Bell and the team are left to continue their pursuit of bringing down the undercover spy ring, but it proves to be more of a challenge as Bell struggles to move on from their Perseus-affiliated past.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, drugs, needles, panic/anxiety attack(?)

Notes: A bit of a chill and slow chapter this time, thanks for your patience. Be sure to stay hydrated and to rest your eyes from the screen! 

[Y/N] "Bell" [L/N]

September, 1983

CIA Safehouse, West Berlin

“We’ve got a job to do.”

It was like a switch.

The trigger phrase you never heard for the longest time still had its grasp on you. You felt consciousness leaving the realm of reality, purging into the memories and digging them up. The headache from earlier only seemed to worsen.

Soon enough, you awaken to the smell of burned clothes. Something heavy lied on top of you, which you came to recognize as a fresh corpse. Pushing them off, you unbuckle your strap and fall onto the metal flooring, causing the helicopter sink a bit closer to the ground.

Even if you've seen this scene repeatedly, it was unnaturally real. The smell, the sweat, and false pain you felt would be parallel to the real thing. But of course, it wasn't. Everything was fragmented, pulled together and assembled like a puzzle from war clips and verbal storytelling. You were never here.

And yet, Vietnam looked so beautiful. 

"This will just be like last time, Bell. You woke up in the middle of a firefight." 

Jumping down from the chopper, you landed on the ground, pain shooting up your legs. Sucking it up, you found yourself surrounded in a jungle like terrain, a paddy in front of you. Around you were a few American soldiers struggling to break through the defense of the Viet Cong soldiers. Nearby bushes and trees were on fire, and the smell of smoke filled your nostrils. 

One of the troopers in front of you was caught off guard, getting stabbed by a bayonet. His companion kills the attacker, before tending to his colleague.

It was nothing new. You've seen it all, and could probably even risk closing your eyes and walking through the hell of it. 

"The crash survivors were defending against a VC attack. You ran forward and picked up an M16."

You find the aforementioned M16 propped up against a rock, and you did as instructed. Aiming down the sights, you took down your enemies one by one. It felt like you were doing most of the work, watching them all fall. Once there was an open opportunity, you trekked forward.

Water filled your boots as you wadded through, loudly splashing around as you made it across. You could feel your feet sinking in the mud with each step as you practically dragged your feet. Your fellow combatants seemed to disappear when you weren't looking, their voices fading away. There were five, then three… 

“The remaining VC retreated into the tree line. It was then you realized that you were the sole survivor. You set off to… Find the bunker.”

You made your way through a small path. The green leaves seem to encompass you, nearly covering the sky. Dew drops would come down from above, slipping off of the tree branches and creating wet spots on your uniform. Humidity made your uniform stick onto your skin, bringing an unwanted itch all over. The buzzing of mosquitoes and flies didn't help either.

A ruin revealed itself behind the shrubs. The stone was mossy and covered in vines, a couple of Buddah-like statues sitting on each side on pedestals. A lone torch was lit, lighting up a red metal door that stood at the ruin’s opening. It was beginning to rust a bit, the red paint peeling around the edges. There was a strong sense of longing and familiarity radiating off of it, and you approach it, locked in a trance.

"Forget the red door, we're changing it up."

The red bunker door was replaced with a dark wooden one, just as your fingers made contact with the handle. It was well kept, unfitting for its scenery around it. The knob was golden. 

"You said Nikitin was trying to make you remember something important. What was it?"

You walked in.

The room you stood in had peach walls and a concrete floor. It wasn't the main meeting room, but rather a side office. Your office. Boxes were stockpiled and pushed to the side, a few filing cabinets aligning the corners. There was a large billboard on the right wall, featuring a map of the world along with various pinned papers, and meticulous red arrows.

A nice change compared to the lifeless grey and white walls from before. The color brought a sense of believability and welcoming. Stepping through it all graced you in intimacy, memories slowly trickling out from the tightly packed dam that held it all.

Maneuvering around, you placed yourself behind a well polished wooden desk that was covered in papers. There were sticky notes on top of it, scribbled in your own handwriting, with warnings of telling you to stop. Your mind refused to give into the pressure, your endurance training from years before kicking in.

You peeled them away.

You needed to understand.

A black and white photograph was placed on top of the small pile, featuring a rather threatening man, whose face was scrunched up in anger. They lacked any facial hair, and the piercing gaze seemed to bore holes into you. The bizarreness of it was that their left eye was practically colorless, with a visible scar running down where dark irises should match.

"Their heart rate is spiking."

"Hang in there Bell."

Looking up, you see Perseus waiting idly at the door. He was a bit younger, with less gray in his hair and a face reformed with less wrinkles. Along with his uniform, he had an armband with the group’s symbol on it. 

He gestures towards the picture in front of you. “What do you think?”

"Depends on what he can bring to the table." Your body begins to move on its own, and you lift up the photo. "You said he used to work under Kravchenko?"

"He was in charge of the Nova Six production on Vozrozhdeniya. You heard what happened, I presume?"

"Operation Rebirth," you answer. Shoving a couple sheets aside, you open a nearby manila folder and bring out a couple of photos: One with a bald man with shades, and another with a thick goatee and eyepatch, labeled 'Jason Hudson' and 'Grigori Weaver' respectively.

"What the hell? That's the mission we did back in sixty-eight."

"So you know." Perseus paces over to the map, eyes darting around before pointing his finger at a certain spot. "He's being held in the gulag, here. I think he would be a good addition to our team. His knowledge of chemical weapons can be of great use to us."

You nod. "What do you need me to do?"

"I want you to—"

His voice began to drown out, slowing down and warping as each syllable was enunciated. You felt yourself getting pulled away, as if you were getting sucked into a vacuum. Everything seemed to pulse as the light started to drain away.

"No, fuck! FUCK! Bell, what did he say?... Goddammit. Lazar, we're doing another injection."

"But, I thought–"

"This is what Bell wants. They're onto something, and we're going to find out. This isn't going to waste."

You winced as you felt something poke and sink into your eye.

"We've got a job to do."

The crash site appeared before you again. It was dark, crickets singing from down below. There was the crackling of fire as nearby shrubs and leaves caught fire. Shadowy figures moved like ants at the paddy, on the lookout for any American survivors.

"Let's skip ahead."

They froze.

"You're in your office. Perseus is telling you about a man being held in prison. You ask him about his plans."

The peach colored office arose around you, replacing the night sky and semi-humid terrain. Noise levels were turned down to the whirring of a fan that stood to the corner of the room.

"What do you need me to do?" you repeated.

Perseus walks over to you, eyes glittering with passion and intent. His agenda and fixation is one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, and why you didn't hesitate to join in on the ranks once he asked you to join. With his strong resolve and leadership, you had no doubt then that Perseus would be the perfect fit to run the country. "I want you to lead a squad with me. Together, we'll break him out. And from there, we can work to rebuild the Union."

"Of course."

"Good. I trust that you'll keep this a secret between us. There's been talk of more moles, and we do not want the Americans interrupting this operation."

You look back down at the photo of the disgruntled man Perseus was keen on introducing to the group. "What's his name?"

"Vikhor Kuzmin, so I've heard. I hope you two will get along."

"Kuzmin…"

The scene begins to warp, colors beginning to blend together into one large mass. Perseus was frozen in place, blending into the peach colored walls. His green uniform mixed with it, spreading out and darkening the once vibrant room. The voices of him and Adler got farther and farther away, and you could only watch as the setting changed in front of your eyes.

"Bell?"

"What's happening? Stay with us, Bell."

"Shi—!"

There were brief flashes of the mission to the gulag. Breaching the doors open with a nice chunk of C4, a group of about four following your lead. Kuzmin was in one of the cells that was hidden away from the public, at the depths of the prison reserved for people like him. Radio chatter and shouts fill your ears. Underneath his torn orange uniform were muscular arms covered in ink, various tattoos embedded in his skin. He was true to the photo, not a detail amiss.

"I've been waiting," he says in a hoarse voice. 

You couldn't respond. 

The scene shifts. Thrown into a meeting, appeared in a confined room. Judging from the walls, you were underground in a hidden place, water dripping from the cracks on the ceiling and pooling on the cold floor below. There were two other people with you: Stitch, now out of his prison garments, and Perseus.

"Why'd you call me here, General?" you ask, closing the door behind.

“Stitch here is about to give an update to how our Nova Six arsenal is holding. I thought you would be interested.”

“Of course.”

You take a seat in one of the swivel chairs. Stitch eyed you with some interest, probably wondering why you were even called here. The guy practically covered himself from head to toe, so you couldn't read his expression. From experience, he wasn’t the talking type, the both of you barely giving each other a second glance if you just so happened to pass by in the hallway. But through the chance you did interact, it was always insults or arguing.

“We have a potential transport route for the cargo,” Stitch begins, resuming his attention to Perseus. “Jose Luis Menendez. I have a plan in mind that might interest him. By next year everything should be lined up if negotiations go well.”

Perseus nods. “Very good. Things have been running smoothly with production, I hope?”

“Yes.”

“We’re using a drug dealer to smuggle some gas?” you quote. It wasn’t a bad plan, but it was a risky move to trust someone not heavily involved within the organization. 

“You have something better?” Stitch challenged, and you beam at him, flipping the pen around in your fingers. 

“Nope. Sounds interesting. Are you sure you can handle it, tough guy?”

Stitch restrains himself from reaching over to choke you, and continues to describe his plan. “A friend of his is being held by the Americans. There’s been plans for his transport, January, nineteen-eighty four. Our bargaining chip.”

You give out an amused whistle, leaning back in your chair. “Not bad.”

"Kuzmin has also told me about a particular man that should be in our interest," Perseus adds, sensing the tension increasing between the two of you. "I had one of our agents pull up anything relating to them. And, I have to say, quite a mysterious man, I think you'll like him, [L/N]."

He personally hands you a blue file. Opening it, there wasn't much to behold. There was a picture of a middle aged man, with a scar that stretched across the left side of his face like vines. A nice set of aviators sat on his nose, hair neatly fashioned. The CIA symbol was stamped on the wall behind him.

Your eyes drifted off to another part of the page, and you found his name. Russell Adler.

You close the folder after reading what little information was provided. Perseus was right, you were intrigued. "What are your orders?" 

"Our friend Stitch has personally volunteered to handle him, but I assured him that you would be best fit for the job," Perseus admits, much to your colleague's dismay.

Glancing at Kuzmin, his already disturbed scowl was further darkened, a vein protruding from his temples. You gave him a scornful grin. "So, that's where your eye went. This American took it."

"You ought to watch your mouth, mutt."

"Is that how you talk to your superior?"

"[L/N]," Perseus warns, and you settle back down. "Please. You'll be working together from now on."

"If he isn't a nuisance."

You see Kuzmin’s hand twitch, unbeknownst to Perseus, who gives a nod. "Continuing where we left off, I want you to deal with the man in the file. Russell Adler. If we let him loose for too long, we may have to deviate from our objective."

"I'll get my team—"

"No need. We already have a plan in mind." 

You raise a brow in interest, waiting for him to continue. 

"One man shouldn't be of much trouble to you, no? He may be America's monster, but we have a few of our own." He nods at you. "Pose as a CIA agent. We'll have someone from inside set up a meeting with you soon, they'll get you in. Once we get a hold of the bomb, you'll clean up the rest."

"Do you have any preferred methods in mind?"

"I'll leave it up to you, [Y/N]."

"When do I start?"

"After the weapons get to Duga. Ensure that Arash doesn't stray from the plan, yes? Come back here when everything is settled."

You nod in acknowledgement. "I won't fail."

Satisfied, Perseus gets up from his spot and walks over to you. He places a hand on your shoulder, his grip a bit more tighter than it should. "I know you won't."

It felt more like a threat. 

With years of planning already under the name, there were no excuses for screw ups or mistakes.

“He may seem like a good person when working with him, but remember— Do not trust Adler.”

“He'll lie to you.”

.

.

.

.

You woke up gasping for air. 

It felt like you couldn't breathe. Attempting to inhale proved more difficult than it should have, your throat turning against you and constricting itself.

The sensation you felt when you were drowning came back, and your hands tried to go for your neck, just trying to breathe, only for the straps to hold you restrain you.

Where were you again?

Your left eye felt like it was on fire, a burning sensation settling in, and you could hear your own heartbeat echoing within your ears. Your heart hammered against your chest, just trying to escape it's prison. His final words bounced around your head.

"Bell?"

Everything felt distorted, becoming more rounded as if you were looking through a magnifying glass. 

"Let… Let me out." you gasped. Every limb felt heavy. Your attention directs to your left and next to the window, you were met with an unpleasant sight. A sense of dread overtakes you.

Perseus was standing still. There was a look of severe disappointment written on his face, the corners of his lips slipping into a frown. It was the worst feeling— failure to meet someone's expectations and vision. His lips part, forming words, but nothing was enunciated.

You failed him.

"Genera—"

"Bell," someone's voice cuts you off. A rough hand settles on one of your cheeks and delicately redirects your view back to your right side. Adler enters your peripherals, a cigarette hanging from his lips, nearly finished. "It's me."

There was his soothing voice again. It wasn't forced or demanding, instead taking on a calming and mellow manner, as if he were talking to a fragile thing. He wasn't panicking. It felt almost endearing.

"It's just me and you here. I'm going to take off the cuffs, got it?"

You managed a nod. Adler reaches over, unbinding both ends. Without hesitation you shot upward and doubled over, just trying to catch your breath, but it just came out in short pants. Somehow you brought yourself to a sitting position, but it felt like the atmosphere thickened as a result. You coughed, just trying to clear out the lump that resided in your throat, but nothing regurgitated. Adler catches you as you stumble over your feet.

Turning your head again, Perseus's figure was gone, yet you could still feel his lingering presence within you. 

"I can't…"

"Deep breaths Bell. Just copy me."

You watched Adler's torso expand as he took in air, his muscles tensing up underneath that black turtleneck sweater of his. Mimicking his action, you pull your stomach in as well before exhaling. 

Why was he so good at this? 

Adler's strange understanding on how to deal with your messy life and panic attacks was one of the few things that kept you sane. The Walkman, his presence…

Why?

He tried to kill you. 

And you were supposed to kill him.

"You're okay, [L/N]."

And yet he could pull shit like this, and it works. Every. Single. Time. It didn't help that Adler started to call you by your last name more frequently as well. 

“How… How long was I out?” you croak, diverting your attention away from him. Your heaving finally evened out, and the lump within your throat dissolved, leaving behind a slight aching in your chest.

“About two hours. You went into a submersion period, and we lost you right after you mentioned Stitch.” He gives you a cup of cold water. "How do you feel?"

The condensation of the water made you shiver. “I'm… getting better.” 

The setting finally meshed itself back to normal, the walls no longer slugging. Looking around the room, Lazar was gone. 

"Ready to talk?”

You took a sip, before fully downing it in one gulp. Wiping away the excess water with the back of your hand, you catch a hint of a rash at your wrists before trailing back to Adler. “First, tell me how you know Kuzmin.”

He takes a seat on the table. "He’s one of the people we captured from Rebirth Island. Also goes by the alias ‘Stitch’. I was in charge of his interrogation but the bastard never broke."

“You're the one who stabbed his eye out,” you recall. 

"I was just returning a favor for someone I know," he comments, watching your reactions. The color was slowly making its way back to your face, but you still had your left eye closed. "And you? You were reiterating how you broke the guy out of the Petropavlovsk prison. Elaborate."

You hum to yourself, sorting out everything you just remembered. "I led a strike team. Perseus would cover our squad as we went in. Really murky place, smelled like shit. Stitch was located on the deeper levels of the gulag, so we had our work cut out for us." You massage your wrists, trying to lessen the pressure that lingered. "The general was right though. His Nova Six project was something we were looking for."

"What's the plan for it?"

"I don't know. Last thing I remember was Kuzmin mentioning the Menendez trade routes to direct their supply to parts of the U.S.. There was something about a prison transport happening in January— He was hoping to use that as leverage to establish business with the drug lord." Your voice trails off to a whisper as you avoid Adler’s fierce gaze.  "Not only that but…" 

"Spit it out."

"We... were planning to make a set up of where I was a KGB defector who wanted to work for the CIA. I was supposed to gain your trust and keep them updated. Once we got a hold of Greenlight, I… needed to finish the job.”

"As in… kill me?"

"...That's one way of putting it."

You couldn't look at Adler when you informed him of the past ploy. How could you, now that you remembered that you were ordered to slice his throat open? You felt like a fool for becoming infatuated with him. Was the admiration you felt your own, or was it something you subconsciously convince yourself to feel in order to get closer to him? 

Dry laughing at your own idiocy, you gave out a disappointed sigh. "Arash must have caught onto our scheme. I bet Perseus didn't expect you to throw me into your MKUltra project. And now look how I ended up."

Out of all things, why did you have to remember that? You couldn't see Adler in the same light now, and you were positive he felt the same about you. It felt like the relationship you managed to build up between the both of you was about to come crashing down. "Nikitin was right."

"He may be right, but I'm still alive," Adler interposes. "You're one of us now, [Y/N]. If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by ages ago, regardless if you remembered or not."

Your heart jumped at the mention of your name, but it quickly retracted, the feeling of guilt taking over again.

He hands you your Walkman. 

"Come on. We got our work cut out for us." Adler states. His voice or facial expression didn’t even give a hint to his internal monologue, despite what you just told him. While it’s a reaction that you expected, it was one that didn’t make you feel any more better about yourself. "Sims took a crack at the disk for you, but he already got stumped."

"Anything on the news about the bar?"

"No. I had an associate cover our asses." He places a hand on the door and turns to you with a small smirk, some teasing affection behind it. "Good thing you have me."

"...Sure," you mumble dejectedly. Someone was a bit optimistic for someone who just found out someone close was supposed to gut him open.

"Team!" Adler yells as he opens the door, and the activity around ceases. You caught Hudson near the evidence board (when did he get here?). "New objective. We need to find the whereabouts of Vikhor Kuzmin. Gather any evidence relating to him, and pull up past files relating to Operation Rebirth, the Menendez family, and their associates. Get Mason and Woods on it too, cross reference everything we have to what Bell knows."

And with that, you were bestowed the highest honor of stress and workload. Everyone spent the rest of the night pulling out old dusty boxes from inventory and sorting out the sicking yellow manila folders. They dated all the way until Vietnam days to the most recent findings, and you had to split up the work.

With the assistance of Sims, you manage to extract the information from the floppy disk within an hour. It was filled with KGB daily reports, as well as some encrypted emails that you had the luxury of breaking apart. The contents further backed up your testimony, containing some documents about the Menendez cartel and their affiliation with Perseus. This type of treasure trove is what the CIA yearned for. While it didn't go into the specifics, it had the data of a few encrypted messages and layouts of what Perseus and his underlings were planning. There were mentions of a NATO base as well as the prison transport. No specific dates, unfortunately, so the team had to act accordingly. 

Your eyes were bloodshot as you worked nearly for two days straight, just trying to put everything together. At the same time, Nikitin's words echoed from the depths of your mind, along with his abhorrent mocking smile plastered across his aged face. A weird flavor would spread across your tongue just thinking about it.

The phial Nikitin had in his pocket that had been sent off to the analysis team and returned via paper results, confirming that it was one of the drugs the cartel was smuggling into the U.S. You never forgot the taste of it, and refused to even get near almonds now.

Now you just had to write down everything and present your discoveries. You made yourself comfortable in the inventory space, watching the arcade machine flash brightly with the title and demo of whatever game input it was set to. The music helped you focus, but, after sitting for hours staring at the same rotten pictures and text, you broke.

A fresh breeze nipped at your skin as you walked outside, and you took a deep breath of the crisp air. It was night out, and a few bugs were dancing around the old yellow light. The buildings in the short distance were irregularly lit, the color of the exposed walls hard to determine under the dark sky. The gravel crunched underneath your shoes as you went around the corner. Finding the rusted ladder, you made your way up to the roof.

You situated yourself around the middle and lied down, looking at the sea of black above. You turned the music low, finding a good balance between silence and the rhythmic beats. Leaving your work at the table, there was now nothing to bother you at this very moment, leaving you to stray into your thoughts.

Multiple times you had told yourself going through the scenarios again with Adler’s help would provide answers for everything you’ve been missing, but in the end it only conjured up more questions. Your sense of self was leaving your grasp, and you could only live in the past. There was an invisible tingling sensation around your wrists. You were never able to forget the scene of sitting in the lab, bound to the chair while Park and Adler tried to make you submit.

Breaking a subject’s will and erasing their mind is a difficult and painful process.

That’s a small price to pay.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You needed to stop thinking about it, but having to work around the people who brought the issue upon you served as a daily reminder of what you have been through. Adler was the worst of them all, and it didn’t help that you were developing feelings for the man. 

The effort of sorting out truth and falsification was mentally draining as well. You had to get used to the resurfaced memories and live by them now. Despite gaining more info about your past, you felt a bit lost on what the next step would be.

“Mind if I join you?”

Speak of the devil.

Opening your eyes, you see Adler’s head just protruding out behind the raised edge of the rooftop. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. You’ve been intentionally avoiding him the past couple days after finding out the truth, and with him here, you couldn’t exactly deny his company with nowhere else to go. 

You gave a small nod of permission, and he vaulted himself over. He brusquely walks over and takes a seat next to you. There was the usual smell of nicotine that followed him, but judging from the strength of it, Adler hasn’t touched a cigarette for a while.

“Nice view,” he compliments, gazing up at the sky. “A bit chilly, too.”

You sit up. “How’d you know I was up here?”

“Sims told me a while back that you used to come up here when things bother you.”

"Damn it."

He observes you for a moment. “You’re avoiding me.” 

“I’m not avoiding you—”

“Then why are you up here?”

You look at him as if his asked a stupid question. “How can you still talk to me, knowing that I was supposed to kill you?”

“C'mon Bell. As if we all never tried to kill each other at some point holed up at this joint.” He shrugs. "And honestly, I could say the same about you. I shot you in the damn heart, yet here you are still willing to talk to me."

“Mikhail did say that the bullet was two centimeters away from piercing the heart tissue.”

“You mentioning that only further adds insult to injury,” he retorts lightly. As soon as he did though, he realized that you weren’t in a joking mood. That brooding appearance of yours wasn’t pleasant to onlookers like him, and it only brought upon further worry. "Talk to me, [L/N]."

"How do you handle it?" you blurt. Nothing about Adler gave away his internal struggles and torment. For someone with his age and experience, there was bound to be shit locked up in there. "Stress, the PTSD… Everything. I just want to take a break for once without shit plaguing my mind."

He shifts position. "Well, for one, having someone to lean on is a good idea."

"Who would that be?"

"For me, it used to be my ex-wife. As of now, it varies. I would get a shrink like Sims, but I rarely make it to the meetings." Adler pauses, before adding: "Mason has periodic evaluations. Why do you ask?"

“I’m just… trying to sort everything out. Like, I thought I was finally coming to terms about myself, but then it turns out even I don’t know. It feels… fake, you know? Who am I, really? Lieutenant Colonel [L/N] of Perseus or Bell of the CIA?"

"Lieutenant Colonel, huh? That's a high ranking for someone at your age."

"I'm serious, Adler."

Underneath everything, you could feel your old cold-hearted self resurface whenever you held a gun. It kept you on edge, like a snake just waiting patiently for its time to strike. Nowadays you only kill when it's necessary, but Nikitin's provocation brought out that nature Adler and Park had tried to suppress. Adler's power and hold on you was faltering as you both now saw eye to eye, he could only do so much to keep your deviant behavior in check, and you were afraid of losing yourself.

His leniency only added onto the anxiety— letting your guard down was the last thing you would do if you were in his stead. "After Cuba, when you put me under interrogation… I heard Perseus. He was saying to not trust you. It didn't occur to me until now but… How would he know about you? I thought it was just my subconscious telling me about the truth, but it was more than that."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

"It's anything but nothing!" you yell. "How can you say that?! I spent so long telling myself to trust no one but myself, but even now I can’t do that now. How the hell am I supposed to keep moving forward if there's a chance—"

“Take a look around, Bell," Adler cuts you off. "You're here in West Berlin, surrounded by the best CIA operatives. Woods, Mason, Lazar, Sims, Hudson. If something were to happen, we got you covered. Hudson and I didn't go through the effort of having you back on this team for nothing."

“Even so—”

"Even so, if you're so concerned, and you shouldn't be, I already lived long enough to make a few enemies, Stitch being one of them. Having a target on your back isn’t fun, but it’s what makes the job a bit more thrilling in its own twisted way.

“I’ve worked with you long enough. You have your struggles, but you snap back at every opportunity you get, and you sure as hell won’t go down without a fight. If I were you, doubting myself is the last thing I would do. That’s basically letting Perseus get in your head, and I wouldn’t want to give him that sad excuse of a victory.”

You weren’t just a machine made to follow orders, Adler knew. Comparing the person who you were today, to the one he knew back in 1981, it was like flipping a coin. On one side was the once reserved and obedient agent he invented, the person he tried to distance himself from getting too attached; the other was the you of today. The temperamental, smart-mouthed individual who was struggling to set free from the chains that tied you back, trying their hardest to search for yourself. Yet, you managed to put everything else first before yourself, and he needed you to recognize that you were important too.

“What I said that morning still stands, and always will.”

There was the fuzzy feel again. 

You were always quick to judge how people might react. It was always better that way, to prepare yourself for the worse when it actually occurred, but it brought more harm than needed. 

Fighting off lingering predispositions, you yielded to his persuasion, bobbing your head once. Bringing your legs up to your chest, you hugged them as the breeze began to pick up. It was unusual: you just needed someone to reassure you, and with it, it felt like everything would be fine. Even if it was temporary. "...Okay."

You feel something drape over your shoulders shortly after, with the familiar smell of cologne and ash.

"Don't want to get sick again," Adler states. Without his jacket, the black dress shirt he wore underneath hugged his form tightly. Memories from September's mission flashed within the back of your mind, the image of you tugging at his shirt to dress his wound as he laid unconscious. For someone his age, he was well built.

You avert your eyes, pull the edges of the jacket closer. Those types of details about people never fascinated you before until now. "...You mentioned your ex-wife a couple times before. Was she beautiful?"

"Mhm. Of course she was." He leans back onto his hands, gazing up at the sky as he reminisced about his past woman. "But, she's an ex for a reason, so let's not tread there."

"Why not?"

"Isn't it obvious? I have you now."

Your heart practically jumped out. This charismatic asshole. "You don't mean that."

"I do."

"You can't."

Why were you so scared? Just the thought of someone loving you felt almost unearthly. The emotional baggage you carried was already enough, so to hear that someone was willing to take the time to help guide you through it, and lend a listening ear was too good to be true.

You could feel his blue irises piercing you underneath those shades. "Why not?"

"You can find better."

"I did. And they're sitting right here."

Adler wouldn't let you go. And it hurt. God must have had a fun time writing out your life story, making two people who, at one point, were at each other's throats now fall for one another. 

Stop fighting it.

It was something you kept denying, but with each passing day working alongside Adler, it became harder and harder to bury underneath. That man just strives to succeed in his goal, no matter what the cost, and if the goal this time was to get close to you, and break every wall you had put up in his direction, then he had succeeded.

"You must think you're real slick, huh?" you mumble under your breath.

Caving in, you rest your head in his lap, staring up at his faintly glowing face lit up by the outside lights of the safehouse. Adler stiffens at the gesture, caught by your sudden affection, before easing up. He places a hand on your cheek, and you lean into it, giving out a soft sigh as you closed your eyes, feeling the warmth spread. You couldn't avoid it anymore, small tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

K̴̦͍͑̀̚i̵̡̺̝͋̔͠l̴̝͎͕͒͋̕l̸͇͇̽͘͝. 

Kiss him.

It was something new. The intimacy and the casualty of it. Something like this wasn't comparable to the parental love you had when you were younger— It was a new experience, something of its own existence, and you couldn't help but adore it. 

A stillness found itself between the both of you. The awkwardness that would have followed never came. Adler pondered to himself for a moment. You could see his Adam's apple move underneath the stubble as he wondered what to say next.

"If it makes you feel better… Here."

He adjusts his weight slightly, shoving a hand into the collar of his shirt and pulling out something metal from underneath. Adler dangles his dog tags above you, waiting for you to hold your hand out. When you do, he lowers it gently.

You didn't even know he wore them. The tags were a bit rusted, dirt and dark spots situating itself into the little imprints of lettering and edges. Your thumb brushes over the protruding words, reading them. His name, blood type…

Did he want you to keep this?

Adler notices your complex expression as you gazed up at him. "What? Is there something on my face?" 

"No…" You grip the tags in your hands, afraid to let them go. Adler was out of his mind— for giving you a sentimental object like this, and for believing in you. But… If that's what he wanted, then you will respect his wishes. "Just thinking how I haven't seen you smoke for a while."

“Just trying to kick the habit,” he discloses. 

You roll your eyes. “Knowing you, it goes way deeper than that.”

He smirks slightly to himself. There really was no use hiding things from you. “Just thought it would be rude to do it around you, seeing how you reacted that morning.”

"Am I supposed to thank you for that?"

"Hey, I'm just helping you live longer."

"I don't die that easily."

He returns a small grin. "I know."

Whenever it was just the two of you, it felt like you were on cloud nine. With the walls gone, you found yourself falling heads over heels once again. It was such a complicated thing, and yet you felt more relaxed and stable, knowing that you didn't have to spend any more energy just being apprehensive. 

"What're you listening to now?" Adler asks softly, and you take an earbud out, holding it out to him.

To be able to spend a moment like this with him was something you never imagined doing in your lifetime. Much or less, falling in love with a person like him. You had spent endless days counting bodies and shooting guns since you were young, to a point it had hardened you emotionally. Climbing up the ranking ladder was a challenge on its own, as not everyone was keen on having a younger soldier commandeering their lives. There was no time to maintain deep relationships then; you were too busy for that.

But after meeting Adler, you felt more… Humanized. He was like your bridge to stability. One look at him and a wave of calmness would wash over you. 

Was this what Mason meant about Hudson and Woods keeping him grounded to reality?

Now it was just you two sitting on a roof in private, with one earbud in your ear, the other in his, just listening to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. Adler was humming to the lyrics.

"Russell?" you call.

"Hm?" He tilts his head downward, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. His striking blue eyes meet yours. He notices the corners of your mouth were upturned slightly into a small smile. The look in your eyes was something he wouldn't forget— filled with a new light, mixed with an unyielding devotion.

“Do you really trust me?” 

There wasn't a trickle of doubt in his mind. 

“With my life.”

Auriga Hills: Part One (Javier Peña x f!Reader)  (1930′s AU) (ON HIATUS)

Auriga Hills ~ Part One

masterlist / next part

pairing: javier peña (narcos) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for adult language; violence; smoking; allusions to sex

word count: 3.9k

story summary: 

Javier Peña- brash, arrogant, a real jerk.

And now he’s your damn husband.

Allured by the prospect of mischief and money, you consent to marry Javier Peña to assist him in his undercover mission for justice. You’re only in it for the fun, nothing more, nothing less. But traveling together in close quarters on a train bound for the West Coast comes with some unexpected ramifications- you’re actually beginning to like the damn idiot.

A 1930’s Enemies to Lovers AU

a/n: Train setting? Check. Enemies to lovers? Check. One bed trope? Check. Fake marriage? Hecc yea! Enjoy!

also found on: Ao3

Auriga Hills

Part One:

You’ve had your fair share of near-death experiences, but this one certainly takes the cake-

-Because you’re actually about to die.

Urg!

You wanted a heroic death, a front-page-newspaper-worthy death! Something along the lines of: “Woman Dies Saving Drowning Child!” or “Woman Throws Self in Front of Gun, Saving Pregnant Mother!”

Damn it, “Woman Strangled in Dark Alley!” doesn’t have nearly the same ring.

You continue whispering curses under your breath, leaping over a crate blocking the entrance to a darkness-draped alleyway. Your feet slip as you bolt forward, fighting for just an ounce of traction against the wet, gravel-coated ground. Eyelashes fluttering against the night air hanging thick with the fog rolling in off of the sea, you squint, spying the eerie, deserted docks in the distance.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

You can already see it- your corpse floating face-down in the water.

Oh, there’s no way in hell you’re running down there! You’re not about to hide somewhere so convenient for your killer.

No, if he’s gunna kill you, he’ll have to work to dispose of your body, thank you very much.

Growling through clenched teeth, you spin on the ball of your foot, cutting around the corner of a brick wall as tightly as you can without stumbling. You groan with relief when your feet finally trade the gravel for solid ground, easily doubling your speed with the added traction.

You strain your ears as you bound in between two buildings, listening for that tell-tell crunch of pursuing footfall.

…

Nothing.

You grin.

Tightening your cap against your head, you do not slow down- not even for one instant. You dare not- not until you get to a- ah! There!

You snicker as you bolt towards the abandoned warehouse towering before you, energy returning to you in droves. The building’s nothing but an empty shell now, long since abandoned by the drifters, such as yourself, who once haunted its interior, so it should be safe enough to settle down and hide within.

Home sweet home, baby.

Grinning, you blast the door wide open, storming inside as the noise reverberates throughout the barren building.

“Geez Louise!” You slide to a stop, panting heavily for air. Slapping both hands down against your knees, you whine at the stab, the sting in your side from the exertion of running.

Hell.

You deserved this.

You deserved to have a close call- to have the pants scared off you. Hell, what a sloppy job! You should be ashamed of yourself- you’re more talented than this!

With a heavy, forlorn sigh, you sink down to the ground, pressing your back up against the metal wall of the warehouse, shivering against the chill.

“Damn,” you groan, reaching into your coat to pull out the object responsible for all this bloody trouble.

Your wallet.

Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly your wallet…

It’s a…. borrowed wallet…

Borrowed from someone else’s pocket, that is.

You stare at the worn leather, letting your thumb trace the maker’s mark.

Well, what can you say?

You need the cash more than the man you pickpocketed this from, that’s for certain. He’ll get over it… eventually… If he ever stops searching for you, that is.

Your grin only widens.

With a snort, you paw it open and begin fumbling through the wads of….

…Hundred-dollar bills?

Your eyes blast open.

“Jumpin’ Jahosafat!” you hiss through your teeth, fingers tightening around the wallet. You-you can’t believe your luck!

“Bloody hell!” you gasp, shuffling through the bills, holding them up in the air to get a better look. This-this can’t be real! How many grand is this?

You throw your head back, your sharp bark of laughter bouncing off the thin, metal walls. “Ooooh-boy! Oh, that man wants to murder me right about now, absolutely murder me.” Oh, you wish you could see his face right about now!

Fighting against a fit of giggles bubbling up your throat, you pull out an identification card from the wallet, eager to discover the name and face of the man who’s, no doubt, off somewhere spitting every curse word under the sun at you.

You squint your eyes, attempting to read the card in the dark.

“Javier… Peña…” You pull the identification card further away from your face, trying to angle it just right in the moonlight so you could make out his image.

Two dark, soulful eyes and a moustache glare back at you.

“He looks like a damn grump.” Your grin falls into a frown at the judgement in his frozen stare. You toss the card off to the side. “Glad I stole from him.”

You reach back into the wallet, pulling out-

“Oh!”

Oh….?

Another card? And another… Another… Hell! How many….? All with different names, and-

Your eyes stretch, your stomach squeezes…

An… an ordinary citizen would never have this many… If- if he’s part of the mafia, or a copper, or…or…

Oh shit.

No, no, you’re washing your hands of this- immediately.

You cram the cards back into the wallet, removing the cash and stuffing it in your coat pocket.

“Nope, nope!” you grumble, leaping up to your feet. You spin around, not exactly sure what it is you’re looking for, but- ah, there! An open window, right above your head! And that side of the warehouse boarders the water- perfect!

You hurl your arm back, eager to rid yourself of-

“Throw that and see what happens.”

…oh shit.

You’re dead.

“Turn around.” The voice lowers. “Slowly.”  

…

Rage.

Rage edged in his tone.

Oh, hell.

Oh hell!

Your blood pulses, throbs in your ear. How- how do you get out of this?

You’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die.

Shit, shit, shit!

You raise both trembling hands. “Sir- I… There’s been a- a, uh, misunderstanding-” You slowly twist, meeting the two dark orbs of-

Javier Peña.

Or John Buckley.

Or Fred Matthews.

Or- or whatever his real name is.

You blink, refusing to drop his gaze, swallowing back the fear gurgling in the pit of your stomach.

Both of his hands rest calmly on his waist, but there’s nothing calm in his expression. His eyes flash at you, furor radiating off of him in waves.

“Five words.”

His voice is deep, raspy- made all the more terrifying when paired with the searing I’m-going-to-kill-you glare. He rolls his shoulders forward, taking on the presence of an even larger man.

“Give me-” he takes a step forward, his shadow crawling across your face- “my damn wallet.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lower your brows. “And get the hell out of my house!”

He quirks his brow, watching you with a deepening expression.

Damn it, what are you doing?

“Stop playing games with me, mujer.” Something… dark edges in his tone. He raises a finger, pointing at your hand. “It’s in your fist.”

Your eyes lower.

“Ah, oh my! Thought this was mine!” You toss him a cheeky grin. “No harm done?”

You don’t wait for an answer.

You spin around.

The window.

Arm back- aim-

“Ack!” you squeal, throwing all of your weight at the ground. “Let go of me, you creep!”  You thrust out your feet, aiming over and over and over for his shins, but missing each time.

His grip on your wrist is painful, unforgiving, holding you partially up off the floor.

“You little shit,” he growls, plucking the wallet from your grasp. He frees your wrist, letting you flop back against the floor with a hard oof.

Groaning, you scramble away from him, stumbling up to your feet. “Fuck you!” you shout, launching towards the door.

So close-

A hand slaps on your shoulder- heaves you backwards. “Yipes!” you yelp, stumbling to the ground at the sudden reversal of momentum.

You throw out an elbow, but it lands nowhere.

You squirm- kick-

But then-

Two large hands press your shoulders against the ground-

-you’re pinned.

“Stop fighting,” he hisses in your ear, breath hot against your skin- a faint hint of cigarettes. “And stop yelling.” He reaches down, digging through your coat pockets.

“Why?” you growl, wriggling beneath his weight. “S-so you can kill me without any w-witnesses?”

He doesn’t answer.

You blink.

Oh… not… good.

“W-wait- sir!”

He pulls back, flashing you the wad of cash. “A misunderstanding?”

“Give me that!” you hiss, raising up off the floor. “I need it more than you!” You throw out a hand, but he swiftly pulls it away, tucking the cash within his coat.

He’s up on his feet and stalking away before you can barely think.

“I saw all those cards, Mr. Peña!”

He freezes.

"Give me a hundred, and I’ll… uh, forget what I saw.”

He turns, faces you- but it’s not anger that’s etched on his face.

Amusement.

At you.

He grunts, reaches into his coat-

Your eyes blast open. “Don’t shoot!” You throw your hands in front of you, stumbling back a few steps.

“Relax.” His voice is buttery smooth- almost mocking. He sticks a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it as he watches you, the layer of sweat on his face reflecting against the moonlight.

He puffs on the cigarette, silent.

Staring at you.

Wet curls plastered against his brow.

You raise your chin defiantly. “Don’t think I won’t-”

“As if anyone would listen to a thief.”

You blink.

A small smirk quirks up in the corner of his mouth. He takes another puff of his cigarette, dabbing the ashes off to the side.

“Go home-” he takes a puff of his cigarette- “kid.”

“I told you-” you take a step forward, red flashing in the corner of your vision- “you’re in my home.”

“Here?” His voice deepens, and he throws a glance up, eyeing the hole in the roof of the warehouse.

“Yeah,” you growl through gritted teeth. You cross your arms tightly across your chest. “Don’t pretend you care. You don’t care- care if I’m hungry or cold tonight!” You throw your hand out towards the door. “Just take your money and get the hell away from me.”

The amusement slips from his face, the irritable expression from his identification card swiftly replacing it.

“Goodnight then-” he tosses his cigarette to the ground, putting it out with his heel- “And careful-” his voice lowers, deep, raspy- “who you steal from next.”

 You watch as he slips out the door, stalking beneath the shadows of the buildings lining the docks.

And then-

He’s gone.

Along with the cash-

-Your chance at a new start in life.

Rage explodes behind your eyes.

“ARG!”

You kick at the side of the building, cringing against the jolt of pain that shoots up your leg.

“Damn you, Javier Peña!” you scream into the dark. “And damn your stupid mustache!”

You really hope he heard you.

-------

It was a bad idea to stay in the warehouse for the night. Damn, you forgot how cold it could get by the sea. You can’t stop shivering.

With a pathetic groan, you sit up, eyeing the moon through the window, trying your best to assess what time it could be.

You raise a brow. Maybe… Four o’clock? Five o’clock?

You sigh.

Fine. Whatever.

Guess you’re up for the day.

Leaning down, you dust off your baggy pants, lamenting your current status. Maybe it’s time to jump another train… try a new location.

Tucking your hands in your pockets, you sneer over at the cigarette on the ground, trying to avoid thinking about…. him.

Hell! If it wasn’t for… him, you- you could have used that cash to have a bed tonight- warm food! A… a hot bath!

You groan pathetically, inching the door open. “Oh, curse my bad luck,” you grumble, flopping your head back as you stumble out into the chilly sea breeze. You wish you never held that cash at all if you couldn’t keep it for yourself.

It was all just a cruel joke.

But then again… it was kind of your fault for stealing it to begin with…

Oh, no matter.

Soon, you’ll find a way to get back on your feet. This is all just temp-

“Good morning, Mujer.”

“Yipes!” You all but jump off the dock and into the water. “Wha- oh, you!” Gritting your teeth, you all but growl at him like a feral dog. “What the hell do you want?” Tapping your foot rapidly against the dock, you throw both hands on your hips.

He leans up against the wall of the warehouse, taking another puff of his cigarette. He glances up at the setting moon, utterly unbothered by your anger.

“I have a… proposition for you.” His voice is low, still and calm.

“…What’s this proposition, Mustache?”

“Call me that again-” his voice drops- “and you’re taking a swim.”

You’re almost tempted to test him… almost.

Rolling your eyes, you saunter a few feet closer to him. “What. Do. You. Want?”

His eyes darken- piercing into your own. His raspy voice is all but a hoarse whisper-

“I want you to marry me.”

Silence.

…

You burst into laughter. “Oh- hell! G-good one!” Reaching out, you give him a slap on the arm. “Damn, I’m-”

“One grand, for your trouble.” He takes a puff of his cigarette, his dark gaze holding your own. “And a quick annulment when we get to the West Coast.”

You blink.

“Wait… you’re serious? Actually… serious?”

“I don’t joke, hermosa.” He shifts forward, passing you by as he steps to the edge of the dock. “I’ve… run into a complication.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, wait a minute, are you a cop?” You run forward to stand beside him, staring up at his face. “A mobster? What exactly am I getting into here?”

He tilts his head, glancing down at your gaping mouth.

“You don’t need to know.”

“Like hell I don’t! I’m getting the hell out of here!”

“Hold on-”

You stare down at his hand clutching your wrist. “Fifteen hundred.” His eyes shift away from your face, his voice… tightening. “I… work for the government, hermosa. That’s all you need to know. My partner… she fell through.”

“You better not tell me she got bumped off, I swear I will-”

"The California Express train leaves today, and I must be on it, with a wife. I’m… out of options.”

Ripping your arm back, you furrow your brows at him. “Then, be on it? I don’t want the money- you’re insane. You don’t need a wife; you need a doctor.”

Spinning around, you begin to rush down the dock.

No amount of money is worth-

“Two grand.”

Freeze.

Slowly, carefully, you turn back around, watching with wide eyes as he saunters towards you.

“Two grand.” He tilts his head. “Two grand. This is…. important, Hermosa.”

“Two… grand?” you whisper, eyes widening. “Jumping Jahosafat, it must be important…”

Tossing the cigarette into the water, he steps right up beside you, hovering over your face.

"Very.”

A small smile tickles the corner of your mouth.

“Three grand.”

“No.”

“Then bye.”

“Wait-”

He growls, rubbing his eyes. “Fine, three grand.”

“And an annulment? Once the train arrives in California?”

He releases a heavy sigh. “Yes.”

Slowly, a grin inches its way across your face.

“Well, Javi-” you slap him against his shoulder- “you just bought yourself a wife.”

His frown only deepens.

“Let’s get one thing clear-” his fingers dig into your upper arm, pulling you into him. “If you break my cover or once- even once- ignore my any of my orders, I will not hesitate to throw you off a moving train.” His voice is cold, hard. You believe his every word. “Are we clear?”

You only sweeten your smile.

“Javi, dear-”

“Don’t call me Javi.”

“Let me make one thing clear-” you stand up on your tiptoes, resting your arm atop his shoulder- “If you touch me- even once- I’ll lob your head off.” You wink. “Are we clear?”

He has the audacity to return your smile.

“Indeed.”

It hits you at once- three grand.

Three grand! You- you can’t believe it! Three grand! And a free trip to California? You- you can maybe open that bakery! Just like Mother’s!

You clasp your hands together, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Damn, three grand!”

"Calm down,” he grumbles, lowering his brow. “We don’t have much time. You’ll need some clothes, I imagine, before we go to the courthouse.”

“Clothes?”

“You can’t wear that-” he motions at your baggy pants and much-too-large coat- “on the California Express.”

“Fine, guess we’re going shopping?”

“You need a bath before I’m taking you in anywhere,” he grumbles under his breath, spinning around on his heel as he stalks away.

“Hey!” you yelp, jogging up behind him. “Excuse me, sir. What exactly are you trying to insinuate?”

“You stink.”

“Of all the nerve!” You stumble over your feet trying to keep pace with his strides. “I’m- I’m not bathing in your hotel room, you peeping tom!”

He stops- you run straight into his back.

“Oof, Javi!”

“We’re going to be married, sharing a train compartment-” he angles his head to the side- “and you’re worried about this?”

Silence.

He has a point.

…Not that you’re going to admit that.

“Javi, I will not, you mustached bastard- what- wait! What are you doing? JAVI!”

He swings you forward- and you flail- off the dock-

-straight into the water below.

“J-Javi!” you shriek, splashing the water around you as you fight to stay afloat.

“You can bathe down there,” he grumbles, amusement lacing his tone, “or you can bathe in my hotel room. Your choice.”

“I- I hate you!”

He has the nerve to grin at you.

-------

You stare at yourself in the mirror.

Hell, you make a real lady. A grin stretches across your face, and you adjust the hat on your head until it’s angled just right.

Yup. A real lady.

Heh.

No one would know the truth.

You gasp at loud rapping on the bathroom door.

“Out. Now,” Javier barks.

“Fine! Fine!” you grumble, gathering up the last of your newly purchased items into your bag.

“Now, Hermosa.”

Flinging the door wide open, you come nose-to-nose with one angry, glaring Javier.

“Javi,” you bark, “Is this any way to treat your soon-to-be wife?” You smirk, spinning around to show off the dress you chose to wear to the courthouse. “How do I look?”

He just… stares at you, eyes darkening as they sweep down your figure. Taking a languid puff of his cigarette, he angles his head to the side.

“Not my type.”

You huff, sneering up at him. “Well, good! You’re ugly too!” You cross your arms tightly across your chest, scowl deepening. “Let’s get our marriage the hell over with.”

A smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s go, Hermosa.”

-------

“What a handsome couple!”

“Who? Us?” You raise an eyebrow at the old woman, a court-assigned witness to your vows. “I mean, I think I’m handsome, but Javi?” You sneak a glance over at him, his back facing you, still engrossed in a conversation with the Judge.

You raise an eyebrow. “I mean, he has a nice ass, I guess.”

“W-what?”

“Nothing!”

“Let’s begin, shall we!”

You turn to find the Judge and Javier both watching you- the Judge beaming ear-to-ear.

With a visible exhale of air, Javier lumbers forward, a neutral- almost bored- expression etched on his face. Reaching out, he takes your hand in his.

“Remember my rule,” you hiss under your breath, “when we’re on that train, keep your paws off of me.”

He tilts his head to the side, lowering his brows at you.

“Do not worry yourself.” He pulls you in closer to whisper in your ear, “I only go for handsome women.”

“Fuck you!” you shriek.

…

The Judge and old woman gape at you.

“Uh, um…”

“That’s how she says, ‘I love you,’” Javier mumbles. “Precious, isn’t it?”

The Judge blinks.

…

“…Dearly beloved, we have gathered here-”

“Just the vows.” Javier tightens his grip on your hand. “We’re in a hurry.”

The Judge’s eyes widen further, and he sneaks a glance over at the old lady-

-She has a hand pressed against her mouth.

“….Right. That’s fine. Uh… read the vows aloud then, and we’ll… finish this up.”

The Judge motions at Javier to begin.

"I, Javier Peña,” he rasps, his voice tightening with each word spoken, “take thee to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish-” his hand tightens around your own- “till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you."

He drops his eyes to the ground- almost… shamefully.

The Judge, still very much perplexed by you both, turns his attention now to you.

Oh.

Damn.

This… is really happening.

…What on Earth are you doing?

"I,” you squeak, barely audible even to your own self, “take thee to be my wedded… husband, to have and to h-hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for… richer, for poorer, in- in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish-” you pause, swallowing back your anxiety. You sneak a glance up into Javier’s eyes- immediately regretting it.

He’s… staring at you.

Just remember- this is for three grand- a new beginning.

This isn’t real-

It… will be annulled.

“Till… death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to… you."

You drop both Javi’s burning gaze and hand as soon as the last word drops from your lips.

“I pronounce you husband and wife!” the Judge chirps. “You may kiss the bride.”

You blink-

Kiss?

You forgot about-

Javier’s lips press gently against your own- he pulls away before you even have a chance to react.

He… kissed you.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Peña!” the old woman smiles, clapping her hands.

Mrs. Peña…

Mr. and Mrs. Peña.

Married…

You’re married.

To Mr. Peña.

…To an idiot.

You- you refuse to look at him.

You… think you’re gunna be sick.

What have you gotten yourself into?

"Enjoy your honeymoon!” the old woman whispers, giving you a quick kiss on your cheek. “Have fun, Mrs. Peña.” She winks.

You crinkle your nose, deciding to have a bit of fun with her- distract yourself from your current mental crisis.

“Oh, no. You think I’d want him touching me?”

…

You grin at the perplexed old woman.

“Thanks for everything, lady!” you giggle.

A large, warm hand encircles your own.

“Come, Hermosa.” Javier’s voice is low, tense. “We cannot miss our train.”

You glance up, meeting the eyes of your husband.

Dark.

Hard.

Unreadable.

He brushes a quick finger along your jawline.

You can only nod.

“Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / next part

taglist: (in the reblog)

a/n: Ahhhh!!! I’ve been working on this one since early December! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was a nice change of pace from In Fields of White (of which chapter 9 is coming late this week!) PLEASE comment/reblog letting me know what you think! I spent a really long time on this, lol! (Shameless begging, I know.) Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to check it out on Ao3 as well!

The Azarola Girl - Chapter 03

Masterlist

Warnings: Vomiting and arguing.

Heisenberg and Y/n stood off to the side, watching as Alcina scolded Moreau for throwing up on her carpet. Y/n let out a small chuckle, although she wasn’t amused by the current situation.

Karl glanced over at the shorter woman next to him, noticing she was looking up at him. “What?” Heisenberg chuckled. Y/n just shook her head in response, a small smile gracing her lips.

Right as Alcina was done scolding Moreau, a swarm of black blowflies came rushing through the doors, a fit of crazed giggles coming too. Just then did Y/n and Karl notice the woman being dragged behind the swarm.

Heisenberg’s face went pale, anxiety flooding his senses. The woman he had an ongoing fling with was now laying on the floor with Daniela’s sickle hooked in her leg. “Found this one wondering around in the castle.” Daniela giggled, her body fully appearing, as did Bela and Cassandra’s.

As the woman took in her surroundings, her eyes immediately fell on Karl. “Heisenberg! Help me! Please!” The woman cried.

“Celine, I-” Karl was cut off by a laugh.

Specifically Y/n’s laugh. “Oh this is just too good.” She laughed, a crazed hint in it. Y/n let out a small sigh, trying to calm down.

Y/n started walking towards the door. “Heisenberg, please. I love you.” Celine sobbed. Y/n’s steps came to a halt beside Celine’s head.

The whites of Y/n’s eyes turned black. The calming E/c completely replaced with a harsh white, a bright red brimming her pupils.

A black and red, smoke-like force danced around Y/n’s fingers. With a slight flick of Y/n’s fingers, Celine’s eyes completely dulled, sending her into an illusion.

“Ну, развлекайся со своей маленькой игрушкой, Гейзенберг.” Y/n said, venom laced in her words. She turned to look at Heisenberg dead in the eyes.

(Translation: Well, have fun with your little toy, Heisenberg.)

Celine’s cries echoed through the room. All the lords were in shock, not knowing how to react, not knowing what to say. With a small exhale from Y/n, she turned on her heel, throwing the doors to the dining hall.

When Y/n finally made it out of the castle, she started coughing. A painful stinging forming inside her chest, it felt as if her lungs were being filled with liquid. Y/n’s coughing slowly became more violent.

Y/n collapsed to her hands and knees, a thick, black substance started pouring from her mouth when she coughed. The ink-like substance dyeing the snow, even melting it in the process.

Y/n’s eyes started to slowly fade back to her normal E/c ones. Her violent coughing slowly dying down. Any breath she took came out as a struggled wheeze.

Y/n fell on her side to roll on her back. She looked up at the stars, her body adjusting to the temperature of the snow and the air around her. Y/n brought the back of her hand to her mouth, slowly wiping off the black liquid.

Y/n closely inspected the inky substance, reminding her of the fungal roots that she was all too familiar with. A faint sigh escaping Y/n’s lips, causing a burning pain to shoot through her chest, “Ah fuck.” She hissed, grasping at the soft fabric on her chest.

A faint sound of horse hooves and a carriage were heard in the distance. They started to get closer and closer, a small chuckle coming from the abnormally large man.

“Ah, Miss Azarola.” The Duke chuckled, slowly bringing his carriage to a stop, just a few feet away from the woman sprawled out in the snow.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The Duke stopped his carriage at the Azarola Castle. “Miss Azarola, we’ve arrived at your home.” He said with a caring tone.

“Thank you, Duke. How much will it be?” Y/n asked, looking through the small hand bag.

“Don’t worry about it dear, just get some rest when you get inside.” Duke smiled. Y/n’s jaw slightly dropped, shocked that she actually got something for free from him. Duke let out a small chuckle as he drove his carriage away.

Y/n turned around to look at the doors of her castle. Just as she was placing her hand on the cold handle of her door, Y/n heard a small whimper. Turning around to look towards the direction it came from, the woods.

Y/n reluctantly walked closer to the woods, that’s when she noticed the faintly growing red eyes. That’s when a huge Varcolac Alfa jumped out of the darkness and tackled her.

Y/n tried using her power, although it wouldn’t work. Tears brimmed her eyes, she was practically frozen in place, right back to where she was twenty-five years ago.

She stared up at the Alpha, it wasn’t really doing anything, just looking at Y/n. Her body shook, from both the cold and fear. The big creature leaned down and sniffed her neck. Then it slowly backed off, looking like a puppy that just got yelled at.

Slowly sitting up, Y/n sighed, looking at the Alpha, completely dumbfounded with what just happened. Tears slowly rolled down her face as she finally found the ability to breathe again.

Y/n slowly looked down at the hand-like paw of the Alpha. Noticing a metal scrap of mental lodged into the palm of it.

“I umm…I don’t know if you understand me, but I can get that out for you. Just please don’t eat me, it’ll hurt, so just stay calm.” Y/n said, her voice shaky and slightly broken from crying.

The Alpha sniffed in her direction, taking slow strides to Y/n’s side. She held out her hand for the big lycan to smell, giving it a sense of trust.

Y/n started walking back towards the doors of her castle, the Varcolac Alfa trailing being her.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/n was now wrapping up the big lycan’s paw. “Hold still!” Y/n scolded, struggling to wrap the cloth around its injury.

Just as Y/n was finishing up the wrap, the castle doors flew open. The shadow of the floor clearly resembling Heisenberg. The lycan practically jumped in front of her. Growling at the man that controlled it’s kind.

Y/n jumped a little, the growling giving her flashbacks of the sight of her baby brother’s corpse. Shaking her head, trying to get the images out of her mind.

Y/n’s eyes met Karl’s. “Can I help you?” Y/n asked, annoyance evident in her voice.

“Azarola, we need to have a little chat.” Karl said, venom laced his words as he walked closer. The Alpha ready to pounce on him.

Y/n hesitated but brushed her hand along the huge lycan’s spine. “Go outside.” She whispered to the creature.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Oh but it’s okay for you to be a two timing asshole? Real nice Heisenberg.” Y/n taunted, crossing her arms to look at the man.

“Y/n, we kissed once! How does that give you any sort of authority over my love life? My god, you’re just like Miranda.” Heisenberg mumbled the last part, but clearly not quiet enough.

“I’m like Miranda? That’s really cute coming from you.” Y/n said, taking a step towards Heisenberg. Y/n was about to continue but a thick, black liquid slowly dripped from her nose.

She touched her fingers below her nostril, pulling her hand away and glancing at the liquid. Y/n quickly glanced up into Karl’s eyes. That familiar pain in her chest came back, the burning sensation even stronger than before.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

While Y/n and Heisenberg were fighting, a small BSAA squad were at the Megamycete, taking shots to it every few minutes.

This was now the second year looking into Y/n Azarola. Finally going to the village, the start of a cruel and twisted rabbit hole.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Make it stop.” Y/n struggled to get out. She was currently on the floor with Karl kneeling on her side. She had a death grip on Heisenberg’s hand. Her back slightly arching from pain.

Karl looked down at Y/n, worried, confused, and just lost. She was perfectly fine a few seconds ago, fighting with him, pissing him off, being feisty, just doing the things that drew him in. And now it seemed like she only had a few moments of life left.

“The Megamycete.” Y/n cried out. Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something else. Although, she gave into the exhaustion and slowly closed her eyes.

“Hey hey, you gotta stay awake for me.” Heisenberg said, using his left hand to cup Y/n’s face. He received no response, just silence, he was thankful she was still breathing, but it was clearly struggled.

Heisenberg gently lifted Y/n off the floor. He let out a loud whistle. Thousands of lycans started to rush towards her castle. Only some of them making it through her door.

“Go to the Megamycete, kill anything in your path and bring it back to my factory.” Karl said.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @imagine-yourself-happy @the-soldats-kitten @ktdragonborn @ella-dragneel @jellyroom2 @frietiemeloen

If you wanna be on the taglist, please let me know.

No sender identity for u just pick some random bitches

Five times hugged, this himbo is touch starved

five times hugged:  ( five times the receiver hugged the sender )

"Ah!" Alfred raised his hands up above his head, his chubby fingers grabbing toward his father's figure. "Ah!"

Arthur bent down, his large hands grasping Alfred's small frame and lifting the boy high into the air. Alfred squealed in delight, smacking his tiny hands on his father's face and laughing. "Da! Da!"

"That's right, son." Arthur held his son close, rocking him gently, bouncing on his heels. "That's me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud shriek pierced the night. It took Alfred several seconds to realize it was coming from his own mouth. He gasped for air, clutching his chest. He wasn't drowning. He wasn't imprisoned on that godforsaken ship. He was on solid ground. But still he couldn't shake the memory of being tossed by the waves, his legs and arms bound in rope and canvas, just another corpse tossed overboard.

He felt a firm hand slap over his mouth, snapping him out of the nightmare. "Shut up, boy!" Gilbert hissed. "You'll wake the whole camp if you scream like that." The old general didn't sound angry, just practical as always.

The real world slammed into his consciousness. But the terror remained. Though his brother rescued him, his brother didn't stay. The nightmares did.

Alfred turned and buried his face in Prussia's chest, hardly caring that it wasn't right. His breath came in jagged sobs, his fingers taking bunches of the other's nightshirt.

Prussia would surely scold him in the morning. But right now, he held the boy - for he was just a boy, despite it all - and let him cry himself to sleep once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One kiss after another, placed sweetly on the foreheads of all her grandchildren, Martha blessed each child who ran up to her before dinner. Some giggled, some groaned and mumbled that they were too old to be babied, but all acquiesced to their grandmother's wishes.

Alfred stood in the back, watching all of the kids get their hugs and kisses and then run into the dining room. He normally went in by the other way, with the General, and so avoided the ritual. But today he decided to watch it, a bit amused by how the older boys grimaced at their grandmother's affection. When the last of the kids were sufficiently blessed, he followed them into the dining room.

Martha caught his arm, her wrinkled hands surprisingly strong. "Where do you think you're going, young man?"

He gave her an odd look. "To dinner?"

"Hmph!" Martha huffed. "Not without my blessing, you're not!" She pulled the teenager down by the collar and kissed his forehead.

The action so surprised Alfred that he hardly knew what to do, standing still as a statute, frozen as a ghost. But when he gathered his wits, he hugged Martha as tight as he dared. She didn't need to say anything. He was family. And now he knew it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The train's whistle broke off the brothers' conversation, and Alfred felt the urge to cover his ears from the volume. Matthew laughed, though that was drowned out by the shrill. When it died down, Matt finally spoke again.

"I guess that's my cue to go." He readjusted his pack on his shoulder, glancing toward the train that would carry him away toward the shore.

It felt like a part of his soul was being wrenched away as his brother took the first step toward the war. "Aw, hell, not without a proper goodbye!" Alfred grabbed Matthew and squeezed his twin, not caring that the whole world was watching. "You'd better come back in one piece, or I'm gonna beat your ass."

Matthew grunted, his ribs crushed in his brother's vice-like grip. "You come join me soon, or I'll beat yours!" He pounded on Alfred's back in return of the spine-crushing hug, which bid Alfred to release him. When Matt finally caught his breath, he huffed. "I really am going to miss you, you fucking asshole." For a soft-spoken man in most contexts, Matthew let his speech fall into familiar ribbing with his brother.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm working on it. Try to leave some fuckers for me to shoot at, will ya? I don't want you having all the fun while I'm waiting on Congress." Alfred gave his brother one final punch to the shoulder. "Now get out of here. Don't want Dad yelling at you for dawdling."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The kitchen radio crooned its usual morning songs. By this time, breakfast was usually on the table, and he was getting dressed for work. It was strange to have a day off, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. But when he woke, rather later in the morning than he intended, with a beautiful woman laying on his chest, he couldn't find it in himself to complain.

It wasn't like either of them to sleep in, but especially not her. There were chores to do. The animals needed to be fed, the house needed to be cleaned, the cooking, the laundry, the gardening. A thousand tasks that he often didn't think about while he was at work, and yet she managed perfectly while he was away. He liked to keep track of it all, so he could thank her, but it too frequently slipped his mind to do so.

Still, he kissed the top of her head, her dark curls soft against his lips. She didn't wake, but her bare arms tensed, holding him tighter. Her soft breathing was a far sweeter melody than anything the radio could play. He closed his eyes again, listening to the sounds of her breath, and feeling the beat of her heart against his skin. Chores and work be damned. He could stay here for eternity.

Okay thought up a quirk and a villain motivation so I'm gonna put it on Izuku because reasons.

The quirk is called Picture Perfect

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️

Whoever Izuku takes a picture of (physical picture, digital doesn't count) is frozen, disappearing from the real world and only existing in that photo. Izuku doesn't discover his quirk until he's about 14, he was given the diagnosis of quirkless and no one uses polaroids anymore so it wasn't exactly easy to catch. Since he was 'quirkless' for a whole decade, his dad left and him mom had to work two jobs to support them both and he started coming home beaten bloody by his classmates and after ten years Izumi Midoriya is always tired. She rarely looked happy anymore, and Izuku couldn't help because the whole world seemed to be crushing her. And when Izuku is 14, he decides to get a polaroid so that he can start putting more than just his idol on his wall.

It's his mom's birthday, he made her her favorite dessert and picked up some shifts at the library so she wouldn't have to work that day. She was smiling the brightest smile he'd seen in years and he used his polaroid for the first time to take a picture of his mother. So he was terrified at first when he realised he'd accidentally trapped her, deducing that it was his quirk and that he could let her out if he tried. He almost did, but then he saw the smile on her face, frozen, happy. He put her picture down on the table and left, going outside and testing his quirk on a few strays to make sure he could absolutely get his mom back without hurting her. He went back home an hour later and he realised something.

She was frozen, happy, she didn't have to worry about anything in there, the world wasn't crushing her, she was safe. Keeping people safe and happy is what heroes did, wasn't it?

He carefully used double-sided tape to fasten the picture to the wall without tampering with the ink. That's what he was doing, he was protecting her from all the harsh things even pro heroes couldn't protect people from.

He didn't tell anyone, if he did, they would make her go back to working herself to death, they would take smile off her face. He wouldn't let that happen. He stopped going to school, he left his house with only a few pairs of clothes, some money, and his mother safely stashed away pressed in a hardcover cookbook. He had to give up the idea of UA, but that was okay, because he was gonna be a hero to protect people for all the harshness of the world instead of just villains.

He thought it was selfish that he had the power to freeze people in bliss and only gave his mother said freedom, so he marched up to the first homeless man he saw and explained his quirk, offered the man a trouble-free existence.

To his surprise, the man seemed horrified at the idea. He said he would keep his life and the hardships that came with it, and sped away as if Izuku were crazy. Izuku didn't offer anyone else, wandering around the red light district looking for a cheap hotel to stay the night. He ended up accidentally going in circles and it was starting to get dark when he came across an alleyway, and some part of his gut urged him toward it.

Eventually his steps became wet and he looked down, in the dim light he could barely see a figure to he turned on the flashlight on his phone. He threw up a second later. There in the middle of the alley was the corpse of that same homeless man, mangled and broken and not breathing. If he had just listened to Izuku this never would have happened, he would have been happy and alive and as well as his mother. He ran away, tears clouding his vision because he couldn't protect this one.

Next time, he didn't ask. Instead, he offered the homeless woman a sandwich and talked to her. It seemed she didn't get that sort of kindness often because she brightened at the wide-eyed little boy she met. They chatted and laughed and it was one of the best days the woman had had in months of misfortune. He decided to capture her, which he thought sounded much worse than it was. He whipped out his camera and told a lie about taking pictures of people he helped in the community for a school project and she obliged happily. He put her picture in the cookbook for safe keeping.

He kept doing this, for every down-on-their-luck person he came across, he was reported a missing person along with his mother so he started dying his hair and wearing a medical mask, purely to keep all his pictures safe and happy.

But then the news started getting on with all the missing persons, and he was labeled a villain. He knew why, the general public don't know how happy they can be, forever. He was given the name Broke Bandit, which was a rather dumb name, but a bit fitting considering he mostly took pictures of people who were down on their luck money wise. He started being more careful, only making people happy when they were alone because he'd already done too much good to give it all up now. He was helping people, no matter how much the public wanted to twist his motives. He took odd jobs to keep himself fed and housed, occasionally sleeping in empty bachelor pads and borrowing money from wallets that wouldn't be needed where their owners were. The UA exams passed and his Kacchan got into UA just like he always wanted, Izuku was so happy for him. But then UA was attacked by the league of villains and that wouldn't do. How could Kacchan be happy if he wasn't safe at his own dream school?

He did research, but that wasn't enough. He started taking up different kinds of odd jobs. People traded people for information, a few questionable individuals but if they were consorting with these types the people he captured must have been bad types. He gave away the photographs with minimal questioning, not releasing them from their pictures though. Even if these people wanted to kill the people he captured for them, he wouldn't let them hurt. That wasn't was heroes did.

He found the LOV base too late, Kacchan was kidnapped by those bastards and that wouldn't do. He made his way there as quickly as possible, he picked up a few tricks capturing people before they could see him, and he got into the base with a bit of struggle. He positioned himself right behind the chair they had crudely strapped Kacchan to, and got his camera ready.

He took a picture of everyone in the room from just above Kacchan's head so he wouldn't be captured too, and every villain disappeared into the tiny piece of paper.

He walked into view of his former bully, waving the picture casually as if he weren't internally bouncing off the walls with excitement to see his oldest and only friend. But before he did, he had business to take care of.

He held up the picture, showing the final moment of the LOV. "They're all in here, trapped until I let them out." He said evenly, before gently opening the blond's palm and placing the picture there before closing the fist, hearing the paper curl and crinkle. "Destroy it." He said, staring down at his friend with a mad glint in his eye.

Red eyes went wide, his jaw clenched before he started hurling insults like they were still five and he was having a tantrum. "What the fuck?! No! Why should I believe you?! Fucking asshole! I'll kill you! Why would I kill them I ain't a damn MONSTER!!" He struggled harshly against his restraints, accidentally making his palms sweat more.

No, Izuku couldn't get rid of the LOV, the credit would go to an unknown mask instead of Kacchan, and Kacchan wanted to be number one. Taking down a whole villain organisation that even got past All Might would surely help Katsuki more than him. He sighed, and decided once again, since people refused to see the bigger picture, he'd give it to them free of charge whether they liked it or not. He hooked a finger under his mask, and pulled it down. He smiled kindly at his friend, who suddenly looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Then all the rage that had been collecting over all those months since Deku had disappeared made him slip. He lost control and reflexively made an explosion big enough to decintigrate the tiny photo.

Ash fell through the teen's fingers as he realised he had just killed people. He struggled against his restraints more harshly, hissing and spitting barely comprehensible threats.

Izuku's work was done, so he tugged his mask back up before putting a finger over his covered mouth. Katsuki froze. "Don't tell anyone I was here, then you won't get all the credit for such an amazing feat, ne?" And he left.

Katsuki told. And Izuku had never felt more betrayed when he saw his face on the news of the cheap motel TV talking about all his heroism as if he were evil. He cried.

He needed advice, but he had no one. So after a lot of debate, he got out his mother's picture, still smiling in front of her birthday cake as she was when he'd taken her. He released her.

She stumbled backwards, losing all the colour in her face and falling as if she hadn't used her legs in months, her puples like pinpricks. She looked up at Izuku and everything she emitted was fear, not tainted with relief or happiness at all. Izuku didn't understand.

He tried to explain what happened, but she didn't say a word, she kept crawling away from him feebly as if he were everything bad in one small package. "Y-Y-You're a murderer." She said, and Izuku would have revelled in hearing his mothers voice again after so long were it not for the words.

"What?"

"I was there, I couldn't move, you let people die, you killed people, you trapped people." Her voice got more steady as she got more angry but it barely covered a portion of her skin-bleaching fear. Izuku blinked at his mother.

"I-I was just trying to help--" his words made her flinsh as if she didn't know he was her son.

Suddenly anger flooded the teenage boy. "I gave up UA to try to keep you happy, I gave up my name to protect people from killing themselves with all the hardships of this world! I gave my life to keep bad people off the streets and to keep people happy!! I lost everything, and now you won't even look your own son in the eyes?!" He hated this, he gave everything and she was looking at him like this. Angry tears flowed down his cheeks as he harshly grabbed the polaroid still hanging from his neck, and his mother scrambled to try to stop him even though all she could do with the lack of practice moving was crawl.

His next picture of her wasn't happy. She was pale, crying, pathetic, reaching for the camera with wide eyes that held nothing but fear for her only son. He crumpled up the paper into a crude ball, stomping out to the hotel parking lot and burning her picture on the concrete, followed by everyone else he kept safe in his cookbook.

If everyone insisted he was a murderer, if he was going to be punished as a murderer no matter what he did, he might as well be guilty.

𝖲𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝖢𝖺𝗍 𝖶𝗁𝗈? | 𝖫𝖾𝖾 𝖧𝖺𝖾𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇

PAIRING: lee haechan x reader

GENRE: humor, fluff, haunted house au, friends-to-maybe-more?

WC: 1.2k

NOTES: cursing,  horror/scary things 🤡 boo maybe a Halloween drabble in January 🤠?

↳ “Don’t let go. If you do, I think I’ll die.”

✧

You weren’t going. No way. So what if you have to be stuck at home ignoring annoying doorbells from candy deprived kids who just rampaged from door to door? It was way better than going to the highest-rated horror house in the city... right? 

“Listen, I’m staying here. I’m not going to scream my brains out and get killed by a clown alright? End of discussion.”

“Come onnn, it’ll be so much fun. The fear is the best part,” Renjun tries to convince you for the nth time. “Who wants to be alone on Halloween?” 

You reply with no hesitation. ‘’Me.”

“Y/n,” he groans in frustration, “you’re not gonna die. You can just stick by Haechan’s side, no biggie.”

Renjun’s response causes you to furrow your eyebrows. “Why Haechan?” 

“Well, he won’t stop bragging about how fearless he is, so he can protect you... I guess?”

You snort, “Haechan protecting me? Why would he want to do that?” 

His eye suddenly twitches, specifically the left one, you note. “Uh- no reason. Hey guys, you ready?” he calls out to the other guys.

“Yeah, did y/n finally change their mind?” Chenle asks. 

“Of course. They’re gonna change, and then we’re leaving.” Renjun glares at you with such ferocity that you simply turn and walk to your room to get ready.

✧

You regretted going. Waiting in line was literally torture. The never-ending screams were torture. Everything was torture. 

“Guys, I don’t think I can do this anymore. Didn’t you just hear those kids screaming? It literally sounded like they were actually getting murdered.” 

“Oh don’t be a baby, it’s gonna be great getting chased by clowns,” Renjun states. 

Haechan puffs up his chest. “Or the clowns are gonna be chased by me.” There’s a moment of silence before you speak up again. 

“Seriously, how come Jisung wasn’t forced to come and I was?” 

“Cause,” Jaemin replies, “He’s a baby. Mine, specifically.” 

You roll your eyes, bottom lip jutted out in frustration. “What about me? Am I not a baby?” 

“Nah- oh heck no,” Chenle says, head shaking from side to side.

Haechan mutters under his breath, “you can be mine..” 

“Ughhhh I’m gonna die, and it’s gonna be all your guys’ fault.” You might’ve tried to escape the line and run away as fast as your legs can take you but there’s always that one person who stops you.

“No, you won’t.” Renjun shoves you toward Haechan, making you stumble into his arms. “Since you think you’re all so strong and mighty, you can take care of them.” You’re too busy grumbling to notice Haechan’s flustered expression. 

The line moves up and the horrible feeling in your stomach grows every step closer. 

When the group in front of you enters the death house, you tightly clench whoever’s arm is right next to you. “Oh my god, we’re almost in.”

Haechan lets out a strained laugh, weakly attempting to remove your iron grip from his arm. 

 And then the door opens. You feel the cool air flow out and shiver. Chenle lets out an excited woohoo! and dashes in. 

You’re frozen, staring at the darkness emitting from the door until a voice cuts in. 

“Come on, y/n. We can do it.” You look up at Haechan, a hand offered in front of you. 

And so you take it, entering the haunted house with the rest of the boys. 

It isn’t too bad -is what you thought for the first five steps into the house. 

It helped that everyone was giggling at all the lame props that didn’t seem so horrifying after all.

Horribly fake decorations? Okay. Bloodied corpse? Ehhh... 

Is that a murder chainsaw guy? Goodbye. 

You swear it was some weird vase decoration or whatever, but when it stands up and that roaring engine sound comes to life, everyone erupts in screams and scatters throughout the place.

You're not sure where you are, where everyone else is. The house feels so much scarier alone. In total, you’ve been jump scared by three zombies, one skeleton, and a coat hanger. 

You’re not even sure how you’ve been moving through this maze of a house. For real, how many doors and hallways have you walked through? 

After a creepy girl pops up right in your face, you wail, almost on the verge of tears. There’s no choice but to run away, maybe find someone else or an exit. Where is everyone? 

Turning a corner, you bump into something, immediately falling to the ground and shrieking. Wait a second. You may be hearing things, but it sounded like another scream? One was yours for sure, and you’re pretty confident that your voice didn’t suddenly become deeper...?

“Fuck- wait a sec... Oh thank goodness, y/n !!”

Whimpering, you peek an eye open to see a relieved Haechan. It was hard to recognize him, the house being so dark and all. 

“W-where’s everyone else?” 

He helps you up, not letting go of your hand afterward. “I don’t know... We all lost each other after that creepy chainsaw man.” 

You pause. “You know, for someone saying that they were so good at these horror things, you were sure scared to bump into me.” 

“W-whatever. I can barely see anything. Come on, let’s stick together. I don’t think I can handle this anymore.”

Slowly, the two of you continue through the house. You never loosen your grip on his hand. you don’t think you physically can.

After a weird clown guy literally comes out the wall(??), the two of you barely make it past, Haechan babbling random useless threats.

You bury your head into his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t let go. If you do, I think I’ll die.” 

If you keep saying things like that, I think I’ll be the one to die, Haechan bitterly thinks in his head. 

“Haechan... I-I think I see it!” “See what?” “Maybe my eyes are deluding me, but I think that’s the exit? Right?”

You both glance up at the giant EXIT sign in neon green positioned above a door. 

It takes a few seconds of studying and squinting before you two share a glance and vigorously push through, tumbling outside back into the normal world. 

  The sight of the black sky never seemed so reassuring before. 

“Y-y/n, we did it!! We escaped that rotten house!!” 

Laughing in joy, Haechan picks you up, spinning in circles until you can’t breathe. Maybe it was being in his arms or staring into his sparkling eyes that caused your heart to beat faster.

“GUYS!” Haechan finally sets you down at the outburst. How convenient, the rest of your group basically collapses outside the exit. 

“Please- let’s just get the hell outta here. That skeleton seriously moved, I swear. But...how did you guys escape so fast?” Renjun asks, a suspicious glint in his eyes. 

You share a smile with Haechan, growing when his hand sneaks around to fit with yours. 

“Cause we had the guts to do so.” 

“.........was that supposed to be a p-” 

“No, y/n. Don’t say anything. Don’t even give him a response.” 

Maybe haunted houses were pretty fun. With the right people, of course. 

The most dangerous game

I know I’ve been hella dead, but I return with my usual! Stano smut! I dunno why I adore writing these two so much, but I guess I’m attached, so yeah. Ya’ll get content.

CW: Predator/prey vibes, Xeno gets chased but there’s no real big acknowledgement of it.

It was likely because Xeno had developed a persistently wonky sleep schedule that he got so many night time jobs. That, he supposed, was why he was once again out at night hunting another Vampire, despite having told his boss of his run-in with a particularly pretty vampire. However, at the moment, Xeno somewhat wished he was dealing with Stan instead. At least with him he could rely on his need to flirt and toy with him to give him away. But no, the scientist wasn't hunting Stanley, but instead a completely different vampire who was proving his dislike for hunting the blood sucking monsters. Taking advantage of how dark the night was, the human's weaker vision, and whatever ninja techniques he had learned from the internet, the young vampire had hidden annoyingly well in the thick blanket of shadows and clutter on the streets. So, the white-haired college graduate was poking around at every rock and thicket of grass or bushes along the sidewalk before the boiling irritation in his veins got to be too much and he let out a mix of a groan and a scream like a tea pot. Stomping over to one of the few flickering street lights on the road, the hunter stood in the light and dug out his knife, then used it to slash at his stomach to fill the air with the alluring scent of fresh blood. With a pained hiss and the new wet feeling of blood dripping sluggishly down his pale skin, the trap was set, and all the hunter had to do was wait for the shallow cut to work its magic. Which, didn't take long. All Xeno had time to do was get one of his metal stakes from his pocket and extend it, then he was set upon by the vampiric ninja-wannabe. However, despite his skill at stealth, the vampire was young in both a human and vampire sense. Freshly turned at a young age, he'd become a problem because he had yet to grow out of his pubescent hormones quite yet, and giving him a predatory draw and increased strength had only encouraged him to turn hard into the bad boy persona. Sadly, being a new vampire wasn't all improvements. It also meant an increased hunger and little control of your newfound strength. Which is what had led the young man to be targetted by the monster hunter association, and swiftly wiped out by a stake through the throat via Xeno Wingfield. With a grunt, the monster hunter threw the freshly dead young man to the sidewalk, wincing at the burning and itching sting bending down to yank the stake from his throat brought to his stomach. For a moment or so, he felt bad for the creature. He'd been young, and he'd let his newfound powers obviously go to his head after a lifetime diet of anime and movies, the silver haired hunter could understand his over excitement, but he also had little to no patience for dumbasses who couldn't register that they weren't in Naruto. So, his sympathy was brief, and he was soon just dragging the young creature's corpse into some bushes and calling the cleaning crew to come collect him. Then. He spoke.           "God damn, Doll. You're quite attractive when you're being lethal." Stan hummed, hopping down from his hiding spot in a nearby tree and giving the hunter a charming smile that he refused to admit brought a little heat to his face.         "Oh, so you're just gonna become a full blown stalker now? Did you follow me from my house, or was this another 'coincidental' run-in." Xeno's words dripped with sarcasm and venom, but the vampire simply rolled his glacial blue eyes,          "Actually, I'm here because I smelled fresh blood," At the mention of fresh blood, the scientist glanced down at his work shirt, spotting the tiny stain of blood his cut had left,          "Oh." He inwardly winced at how disappointed he sounded, but tried to recover with a sniff, "I had trouble luring the bastard out. It was quite the shock for me to find out that not every vampire would want to chase me down and prowl around my house for the entire fucking night." Stan simply snorted, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one before he spoke again,          "Nah, that's just my thing, doll,"         "Quit calling me doll! You have my name now, fucking quit." The vampire put his hands up in mock surrender, though his smirk didn't falter under the scientist's withering glare. For a moment, they simply stood in the cool night's darkness, the hunter with his arms crossed and dark eyes narrowed, and the vampire returning his malicious look with his own nonchalant, half-lidded one while he breathed whispy smoke from his dark mouth. Both men seemed to dare the other to say something or do anything, each looking for an excuse to make some sort of contact until the smaller male spoke again,           "Are you expecting me to run away? Because I told you the first time we met, I'm not likely to do that," He huffed, but Stan simply shrugged,           "I'm just messing with ya, doesn't matter to me if you run or not." He grinned more at the lightning fast moment of irritation on Xeno's face, but the hunter schooled his facial features back into their usual disdain-filled glare, only broiling with frustration on the inside. He hated this man's relaxed demeanor. He was a monster hunter, the tall, hypnotically pretty predator should be avoiding him at all costs. Yet here he was, needling at him as if he couldn't end him just as quickly as he had the younger blood sucker. Okay, well, not as quickly. Stanley had a good four inches on the monster hunter at least, and had a body that had been frozen at the prime of his life, toned and pruned like an artfully shaped shrub through the years into a gorgeous, powerful example of why humans were the apex predators of the world. Or, well, they were, but with his change into the more monstrous his status as the perfect predator had only increased. Stan was perfectly built to hunt humans. Not only did he have a supernatural magnetic beauty to him, but he'd been human, so he knew how humans behave first hand. He was a nightmarish wet dream. Xeno gave his head a good shake to banish those thoughts from his mind when he realized he was looking the vampire over with the hunger of a sugar baby sizing up their next piggy bank.           "Hey, Xeno," Stan hummed, but the hunter refused to look back at the man, which he simply took as a greenlight to continue, "you wanna play our little game tonight?" The hunter snorted in response, staring off into the darkness while his cheeks cooled,           "I thought you were only here to bother me, not play a game of fucked up tag," He said calmly, only looked back at the man when he heard him walking closer, only stopping when he was about two feet away, maybe within reach, a grin on his pretty face,           "Well, I thought it'd be a bit more polite to offer that rather than just asking if I could drink your blood outright." he reasoned, amused at the edge of poutiness that he seemed to sniff out through the veil of aloof indifference the hunter spoke with.            "No thanks to either offer, I don't want to be chased tonight." Xeno sniffed in response, simply adding a thicker layer of ill temper to cover how excited he was at the thought of being pursued a second time. The first time had, admittedly, given him a thrill, but he wasn't ready to voice such to the annoying vampire in front of him. However, Stan seemed to have picked up on his kryptonite from that first round,              "But aren't you curious to see what happens when you add the scent of blood to the mix?" The purr in the man's voice annoyed Xeno immensely, but the thought of maybe learning just how sensitive vampire instincts were, and how quickly one would succumb to them. Obviously young vampires are more prone to being controlled by their need to feed, but Stanley isn't a new vampire, that curious voice mused, already setting Xeno on a very likely stupid and dangerous path, It'd be immensely helpful to know just how easy it is to bring out those base urges in him. If he's going to follow you around it's best to know what to avoid so he doesn't go feral. It further encouraged, stoking the flames of the scientist's natural curiosity until he hummed,              "I suppose it would be useful for the association to know exactly what triggers a vampire to go into a frenzy of some sort. Fine." The vampire grinned at that,             "You do know that I can't promise my feeding instinct is the only one that'll come to the surface," he pointed out, making Xeno blink and raise an eyebrow at him,             "What? Why would any other instinct come into play?" turning red as Stan laughed,               "Well, in simple terms, I find you too attractive to promise that when I catch you I'd only want to drink your blood~" Xeno's face warmed up more at that, getting huffy and tripping over his words in his rush to snap at him.               "You can have a five minute head start, just like last time," he simply assured, "Just need a bit of blood, because your original scratch has closed," He laughed more when Xeno pulled up his shirt to see that his shallow cut from earlier had in fact begun to heal, no longer bleeding and instead beginning to scab over. The hunter only responded with a glare at that point as he plucked his knife from the sidewalk where he'd dropped it and wiped it off before leaving another cut along his stomach, this one a bit deeper than the first, but not enough to linger for more than a day or two. With that, Stan gave him a charming smile that showed his extending fangs, his blue eyes already getting a hungry gleam to them. So, without further conversation, Xeno took off down the street. The cuts on his stomach stung and itched more from his running, but he pressed on. His main concern was regulating his breathing and energy so that he could get as far away from the vampire as he could in his small window of time. Naturally, his plan wasn't to just run in a straight line and wait to be caught, not only would that likely be dangerous, as a vampire in a feeding frenzy was much more violent, but was less likely to fulfill the goal of bringing those deadly instincts to the surface at all. So, instead, he sought out other people, a crowded area, maybe a shop, that way it wasn't as easy for the predator to catch up to him. This is insanely stupid, that voice of reason finally spoke up, not only am I playing with fire by instigating an instinctual reaction, but I am woefully under prepared to run from Stan. He realized, filling his veins with icy terror when the weight of his situation fully sunk in, The first time we did this I barely survive on pure panic and him toying with me. If he really loses his shit and goes into a frenzy, I can't outrun him. The reality of the thought hurt, but it was sorely true. Despite all of his training as a monster hunter, Xeno had never been one for good cardio, namely in the stamina category. He relied on his wits and pure speed, not his ability to maintain those speedy response times or pace for long periods. but it's too late now, he reminded himself, thinking back to the way the vampire's fangs had extended so soon after he'd given him a fresh source of scent. Nope, he couldn't chicken out now. He had no choice but to stick to his plan and push the panic and fear aside. Instead, he simply focused on the route ahead of him and locked onto the light of a store further down the street, which he headed for instantly. The bright, artificial light blinded the pale scientist for a moment when he stumbled into the store, but he was swift to regain his barrings and dash down the aisles and through the crowds of night owls and whatnot that were still up at this hour. He knew that his five minutes had ended a minute or so before. Meaning he didn't have long before the vampire would be on his ass. So, thinking quickly, he swiped his hand over his wounds, then smeared the blood on his palm onto the tile flooring in an aisle. Once he had that down, Xeno ran off deeper into the store. He had very few places to hide. The bathroom was basically a dead end with no windows and only one door, he couldn't climb up the shelves or to the rafters in a timely manner, so he forwent that plan. Instead, he did the next best thing. leaving as distracting a trail as possible before bolting out one of the fire exits.            "Shit," he wheezed when the fire exit triggered a screaming alarm through out the store. If Stan was in there, he'd definitely know he got out now, but that only meant the scientist had less time to think of such things. He had to focus on running. So, Xeno ignored the way his legs throbbed, and his lungs ached from gulping down the cold night air. He focused entirely on getting home, or at least to a more residential area. He could feel his limbs getting heavier, threatening more and more to give out with each step, but his grit his teeth and bared it until the threat became reality and the asphalt bit into his skin. And there he laid for a few seconds, gasping for air and scraping up as much energy as he could to push himself to his feet. As he did, he glanced back down the street, and sure enough. Stanley was coming out of the alley Xeno'd run out of, his glowing blue eyes locking onto the scientist in an instant. With another curse spat out through gritted teeth, Xeno took off again. His legs still screamed from exhaustion, and now his hands stung viciously from the fall, but he kept going. He could hear Stan closing in on him, which gave him a final burst of frantic energy that carried him to at least the park near his home before the vampire finally tackled him to the grass. The scientist could only wheeze in response, letting the vampire crush against him and push his face into his pale neck with a growl. That seemed to snap him out of the exhaustion cloud, and in an instant, Xeno was squirming and forcing himself up once again. The only way he managed it was because the vampire was taken by surprise, so he was able to slip from his grasp and scramble up, but he only got a few more steps before he had to lean against a tree for support so that his legs didn't crumble a third time. Then, just as quickly as he'd gotten away, Xeno was back in Stan's luke-warm arms, trapped against his needlessly heaving chest with his fangs hovering over his jugular once more. However, he didn't bite down. To the contrary, the feral vampire seemed to hesitate for a moment, seemingly weighing his options of what to do with the hunter before settling on a choice and swiftly switching to almost slamming him against the nearest tree.           "S-Stanley!" The hunter wheezed, more surprised then anything, pushing back so that his face at least wasn't forced into the course bark and he could look back to try and see the blonde behind him. Said blonde was keeping him in place with a hand on one of his shoulders, looking Xeno in the eye and almost relishing the dawning realization that painted his pale cheeks before he used his free hand to hook into his pants and tug them down pretty roughly. Then, he was back at the man's neck, but this time he bit with his blunter teeth, sucking at the skin until Xeno's mewls and hums were pulled out and he was satisfied with the hickey he'd left. The scientist, meanwhile was a bit ashamed of how quickly he accepted the turn of events. He tried to save some face by muffling the noises bubbling in his throat, but Stan's mouth at his neck, paired with the way he ground his groin into his now-bear rear drug a few noises out. Though, it also bat back the fog of hormones and lust long enough for the hunter to realize that he was very likely to get hurt if he didn't intervene. So, he whined and reached up to tangle his fingers in Stan's messy hair, tugging at it until he finally relinquished his throat from the second hickey he was dedicated on leaving. Carefully, Xeno turned himself around with what little room he was permitted between the vampire's muscular chest and the much-less-forgiving tree. Once they were face to face though, the college graduate's brain no longer seemed to work, so, the two simply stood there, panting a bit from the chase, before he finally gave up on using words and instead simply sunk down to his knees. Keeping his eyes glued to the glowing blue pair above him as he went. Luckily enough for him, his actions at least intrigued the vampire, because he was allowed to tug his bottoms down just enough for his member to spring free, which earned him a noise somewhere between a growl and a hum. With Stan's pants down and his member now standing erect in front of him, Xeno hesitated. Should it matter if I'm any good at this sort of shit? I just need some sort of lubrication, and he shouldn't really care about anything beyond...mating, so surely he won't give a shit, right? He asked himself, puzzling over the predicament before Stan reached down to grab onto his shirt, reminding the scientist of his lack of patience. So, Xeno threw his insecurities to the wind and grabbed onto the base of the shaft so he could slip Stan's impatient member into his mouth. The vampire moaned in response, and Xeno took that as a sign that he'd bought a bit more time for himself. So, he slowed down, bobbing his head at a medium sort of pace to work himself up to taking as much of the length as he could, which, thankfully for him, was almost all of it thanks to years of speed-drinking coffee and energy drinks and eating at record speeds in college. He also found that once he actually got to moving, the embarrassment of his lack of skills faded away, and part of him simply enjoyed the groans he got out of Stan while he moved his lips up and down him at a steady pace. He simply continued to work him as much as he could until the vampire let out a little hiss and gripped onto the scientist's shirt until he pulled away and let his throbbing member go with a coy 'pop'. Suddenly, Xeno was yanked back to his feet and whirled around again to be slammed back into the tree. His pants were tugged down once more and his feet were kicked apart in rapid succession so the monster hunter only got a moment's break before Stan pushed into him. And while it hurt still, the white-haired man found that he didn't mind as much. As the vampire began thrusting into him, one hand clawing into his hip, the other on his shoulder, Xeno moaned out curses and did his best to grab onto the tree or Stan's neck to keep steady under the merciless thrusts of the blonde. It was shameful how hot his body got, but with how Stan was hitting that sweetspot within Xeno, his face back to being buried in his neck for more marks, Xeno couldn't care less.        "Mmmm, fuck! ah, r-right there, please!" he plead, tangling his fingers back into Stan's hair as he moaned, giving another lewd noise when his pursuer did as he asked, swiftly learning that doing so got more needy noises from the hormone-addled hunter. With that, Xeno lost all coherency as euphoria further fogged his mind, and soon brought him to his peak with a whine of the vampire's name. Though, Stan didn't stop when Xeno came, he just kept thrusting into him, still flooding his pale body with more and more pleasure while his hot puffs of breath tickled his hickey-littered neck. The continued rough treatment was beginning to sting, but the edge of pain only seemed to bolster Xeno's pleasure back to its peak, pushing a second orgasm from him before Stan finally grew sloppy with his thrusts and soon gave one final movement before emptying himself into the hunter. After that, the monster hunter let himself melt against the tree, relying on Stanley to hold him up because he was on the verge of passing out after that night's activities. The last thing Xeno remembered was giving a thumbs up to what he assumed was the question 'are you okay'. Then, he let his exhaustion take him into dreamland.

chapter 21

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 21/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. Notes: I don't speak German. Bucky's line came from Google translate, so if it's wrong, take it up with Google lol

Rogers had been frowning in silent confusion for nearly ten minutes. Loki was beginning to suspect that he'd become frozen that way and needed to be rebooted like a computer when he finally shifted position slightly and spoke. "You're sure it was Peggy?"

It would have been better if he'd stayed silent.

Bucky, clearly possessing far more patience than his lover had, nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Are you really sure, though? I mean, with what HYDRA did to-"

Though his face remained passively, almost serenely blank, Loki noticed immediately when his beloved flinched, and he immediately snapped at Rogers, "Don't you dare."

"Loki, it's fine."

"It fucking isn't."

"It's a valid question," Romanov had the audacity to say. She cast an apologetic look in Bucky's direction, but Loki wasn't about to let her off the hook that easily.

"Kindly do mind your own business, Agent Romanov." Squaring his shoulders and forcing himself to remain calm, he turned back to Rogers. "I will not stand idly by while you attempt to use his trauma to invalidate him simply because you don't like what he's saying."

Bucky blushed, glaring sharply at him over his shoulder. "Do I need to ask you to leave? You rescued me from HYDRA; that doesn't mean you need to rescue me from the whole world. I can fight my own battles."

Heart splintering, Loki reached out to brush back that beautiful, ridiculous mop of hair. He secretly hoped Bucky would never cut it. "You shouldn't have to. This man is supposed to be your friend, not another adversary."

"It's fine, Doll." His smile was still so sad, but Loki had to give him credit for trying. "I can handle it."

"No, he's right." They both glanced at Rogers, who looked mildly sick to his stomach, and much more apologetic than Romanov had. "I should trust you-I do trust you, Buck. You've always looked out for me. I'm sorry."

Well. It seemed miracles could happen, after all. Nodding his curt approval, the Trickster sank down into one of the empty chairs beside Bucky. He'd noticed that everyone was giving the Sergeant a wide berth, as if afraid he might snap at any moment. Just to prove to them all what an absolute Teddy bear of a man James Barnes truly was, he scooted closer and dropped his head onto Bucky's shoulder, hand resting on his back; he heard the other man chuckle, felt some of the tension ooze out of his taut muscles, and smiled.

Thor was looking at him as though he'd lost his mind. Suppressing a laugh as he remembered that his brother hadn't seen him be openly affectionate with anyone since they were small, he shrugged and closed his eyes. It wasn't comfortable; he'd sat on Bucky's left and his metal arm hardly made for a good pillow, but he didn't care. He'd chosen that side on purpose. Bucky hated the prosthetic arm HYDRA had given him and Loki had noticed quickly that he used it as little as possible, as if afraid it would develop a mind of its own and hurt someone. Loki saw it as simply a part of the other man's body and was determined to show him that it was perfectly safe.

"So, Peggy and Howard hired Zola." Loki opened his eyes again just in time to see Rogers shaking his head in dismay. "After everything we went through to bring him and HYDRA down? I just..."

Stark scoffed. "I can absolutely see my old man doing something like that. He always cared more about the science than the people. If this Zola guy was even slightly useful, dad would find a use for him."

"He was HYDRA's top scientist," Bucky reminded him softly. "So, yeah, he was useful. He was a weapons developer and he made the serum."

"The second version," Rogers cut in, unnecessarily, Loki thought. "Doctor Erskine created the original."

"Question!" Watching him as he snacked his way through this meeting, Loki wished Stark would have at least swallowed before calling attention to himself, but he remained quiet and waited. "This serum Mark Two that Zola created and my parents died for HYDRA to get their hands on... Where is it now?"

The snarky bluntness of Bucky's answer made it nearly impossible to hide his grin. "In five extra crispy corpses in Siberia."

"What the hell happened there?"

The two cuddling lovers turned in unison to look at Thor, who smiled like a puppy who'd just successfully completed his first trick. "They were struck by lightning. A lot of lightning."

Stark and Rogers seemed somewhat less amused than the rest of the softly chuckling group. While Rogers face-palmed, Stark gaped at Thor. "You killed them?! Is there anything left? Notes, tissue samples, anything?"

"You're starting to sound like your father," Bucky pointed out. To his credit, that made Stark's constantly flapping mouth snap shut. "The world is better off if that serum is gone forever, trust me. The last thing anyone needs is more super soldiers."

"An interesting sentiment coming from the mouth of a super soldier."

Loki tensed, but before he could even decide if he should intervene again or not, Bucky proved that he could indeed fight his own battles. Voice still quiet but with a steely edge to it that made the Avengers tense and his lover smile, he told Stark, "Steve volunteered. I didn't. I was tortured, strapped to a table, and shot up with that shit without even being told what it was, much less asked if I wanted it."

"And if you had been asked?" Stark challenged, looking oddly more sympathetic and curious than defiant. "What would you have said?"

Shrugging his ancient love off his shoulder, Bucky leaned forward, forearms on the table and hands folded in front of him, and growled, "Schieb es dir in den arsch."

It became instantly clear who in the room spoke German – or, in two notable cases, Allspeak. While the others stared at them in utter confusion, Loki, Thor, Romanov, and Rogers all laughed so hard they quickly had tears in their eyes. Oh, how he'd missed this man's indomitable sass!

"I'd have paid to see the look on Zola's face if you actually said that, Buck!"

"What?" Apparently the only one who didn't have too much pride to admit how left out of the joke he felt, Banner looked from one grinning face to the next. "What did he say?"

Bucky's impish grin stated clearly that he had no intention of translating. Pride bubbled up through Loki's amusement; it appeared he was rubbing off on his mild-mannered companion.

Sadly, Romanov decided to take pity on Banner – and, by extention, Barton and Stark – and told him, "He said 'shove it up your ass.'"

"Huh." Reminding Loki why he liked him so much, Stark grinned. "It kinda sounds better in German. I'm gonna have to remember that one."

___________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

Prey

Chapter 26: Hunting is fun, right?

Warnings: Mpreg, canon-typical violence.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Why are you wearing a coat?” Moxxie raised an eyebrow as he lowered his binoculars, and Blitzo growled from low in his throat, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Because I’m cold? Seems pretty obvious to me, Moxx.” His teeth chattering together like wind-up monkeys agreed.

“It’s seventy-five degrees out. I checked the weather here before we left to be sure it wasn’t raining, and I can feel it. It’s warm out here.”

“I said that I’m cold. Can’t a man know his own body?” Blitzo tugged the coat tighter around his middle- or at least, as much as he could. The bump had, infuriatingly, nearly outgrown the coat, but that was fine, because it was the one spot on him that wasn’t frozen like a tongue on a metal pole. It was practically boiling, actually, suctioning all the heat out of Blitzo’s body like a leech in a black hole and leaving all extremities shivering in a way reminiscent of poor street orphans. Millie reached over to snap off a square of the chocolate bar that Blitzo was holding, and her eyes widened as she brushed his fingers in the process.

“Aw, Moxxie, he’s right, he is cold! He’s-” She paused, concern gathering like storm clouds. “Really cold, actually. Are you sure you should-”

His fingers tightened around the gun in his free hand. “I’m not going home. I’m not letting this shit bench me, nothing has to change until I can shove the little cretin out and figure out what to do with them, got it?” Blitzo swatted at her hand, and she pulled back with her mouth screwed to the side and lips pursed.

“Hmmph. I’m just saying, I don’t really remember Mama or Daddy going through anything like this. I don’t think it’s a normal imp thing, is all, so you don’t know-”

“I know that if I sit at home with nothing to do, I am going to fucking lose it, so chill, alright?”

“Chill is the last thing you need, apparently,” Moxxie grumbled, and Blitzo smacked him with his tail, getting a little yelp out of the smaller imp before Millie stuck a hand over both of their mouths.

“C’mon,” she muttered, “We need to focus, they’re looking our way.”

Blitzo licked her palm, but she just raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve got four siblings, Blitz, that stopped working on me when I was eight.” Her fingers dug into his cheeks before letting go and he huffed, shuffling on his haunches and stuffing the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth. Already, his stomach was growling again- stupid kid was being even more high-maintenance than usual. For that matter, more everything.

That morning, he’d woken up half-frozen to the bed with blood practically freezing under his skin, his stomach nearly a full inch bigger than it had been the night before with his skin itching like fuck because of it and stretchmarks creeping around the edges to boot. The binge last night must have all gone to plumping the little bastard up or something, because of course it had. (He could still feel where the kid had torn up, but it was manageable now with a handful of painkillers, at least.)

Fortunately, he had a coat in the back of his closet at work from when they’d gone to the arctic to knock off a scientist who’d stolen their target’s research, and he’d gotten it a size too big just in case he’d needed to hide one of the bulky weapons inside.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized that until after the client meeting.

____

“So he just left me there after I checked his gun and it went off.” The client, a deer-form sinner, had raised an eyebrow, camo jacket rustling as he folded his arms with a twitch of his ear. “Hey, how come your little lackey’s in a suit but you aren’t? It’s all unprofessional and shit. You look like a marshmallow.”

Blitzo growled, tugging his (not stretchy enough) shirt down. The light pink fabric bounced back up anyway. Traitor.

“And you ended up in Hell. We all make bad choices sometimes. Just tell me where the fucking gig is, alright?”

____

Blitzo shook his head as the leaves rustled- he needed to focus. He could not become a liability, even though leaving the warmth of Hell for the more temperate heat of Earth chilled his bones better than any iced coffee ever could.

“Gimme the rundown, Moxx. How’s it looking?”

“There’s four of them around the fire. One woman, three men, all in camouflage clothing. All wearing hunting caps for some reason too, even though this weather’s far too warm for it for most humans, I would think. Perhaps it’s some kind of pack-bonding thing.” Moxxie adjusted the binoculars a bit. “The target is the short one with the red hair.”

“G-got it,” Blitzo said, rubbing his arms. If he any hair on them, it'd be standing up. Fire sounded good. Fire sounded really good. “When reddie breaks off from the bunch, we nab them. The client said he doesn’t care if the others get hurt in the process as long as we weren't charging extra for it, he wanted the party all back together anyway.”

“Right,” Millie said with a nod. “As soon as-”

“They’re all moving out at once,” Moxxie hissed, cutting her off. “They were talking but I couldn’t hear what, the target’s being left to guard the fire.”

“It’s almost too easy,” Blitzo said, twirling the gun in his hand and before splitting off and creeping through the underbrush, each footstep sinking slightly into the damp, muddy ground with a squelch as Moxxie hissed something after him that he couldn’t quite hear. The foliage was thick enough here that he lost sight of the fire for a moment, but the cozy, flickering warmth drew him like a snake to a flute, yellow sparks creating dancing shadows off the trees- but with no long shadows to reflect except for his own. “Wait, the hell did he go?” The firepit was still crackling merrily away, but the target had vanished. He raised an eyebrow, turning back to their hiding spot. “C’mon, where is he? You go blind in the last two minutes, Moxxie?”

“He was just here- he must have stepped out to go to the bathroom,” Moxxie whisper-hissed. “Be careful, they’re-”

“C’mon, Moxxie, I’m not an invalid.” Blitzo stuck his hand in the already-opened bag of marshmallows and stuffed one in his mouth. The pops and snarls of the fire were filling the aches of his bones with soothing jelly, and his legs wobbled a little as he swallowed down the gooey snack. “I’ll go find ‘em, just… just a second…”

“Sir…”

“Relax, it takes more than ten seconds to piss.” Blitzo reached for the marshmallows again, fingers already in the bag when-

“Blitz!” Millie called out just as pain exploded through the back of his hand, and a screech bubbled up from deep in his chest as he automatically smacked his other hand at his wrist, brain taking precious milliseconds to process whatever the fuck had just happened.

There was a knife. Impaled. On his hand. Black blood spurted out in waves over his skin and sleeve, and he yanked the fingers close to his body as shrieking erupted from the bushes.

“Ha! Thought I heard somethin’! Those horns are gonna look real pretty mounted on my wall!” Red hair fell over a tanned and freckled face, and Blitzo’s fingers twitched, nerves going haywire as his other hand fumbled for something, anything, he’d dropped the fucking gun when he’d grabbed at his wrist, fuck, shit- there! His fingers clasped a small bottle and he chucked it full force at the human. It shattered, foul-smelling yellow liquid splattering his face as he sputtered and spat. “What the fuck?” The human fumbled for his weapon to retaliate, but-

BLAM!

-That was going to be rather difficult, considering his head was now in about twenty pieces, several of which splattered Blitzo's face and slid down before he brushed them off, licking at his cheeks.

“Blitz!” Millie called, hurrying down. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-”

“Put your h-hands up!”

Blitzo whirled around, automatically dropping into a hunched crouch with his non-injured arm wrapped around his stomach. He hissed as the other humans from the hunting party of doom scrambled back to the firepit. God, his hand hurt.

“Get the fuck out,” he growled in a lower timbre than he’d ever heard himself drop to, and the one in the front froze, leading the woman to shove her way upwards.

“You killed Todd!”

A bang and she collapsed to her knees, clutching at her chest before another shot went straight through her skull. A cawing crow took off from a nearby tree, rustling the leaves.

Fingers clasped his elbow, and he could smell mint- Moxxie’s mouthwash. “The target’s down, we need to-”

“I wanna rip them to pieces, they got me,” Blitzo growled.

“Millie and I can take care of- eep!” Another shot cracked off above their heads, and Moxxie dragged Blitzo to the side as a huge branch slammed down where they’d been. “You’re in no shape-“

“I’m fine!” Sweat poured down over Blitzo’s eyes, and- were there two of Moxxie all of a sudden? When did he get a twin? He didn't have a twin. Blitzo would have found that out by now.

“No, you aren’t! You’re risking all of us, call Loona so we can clean- gah!” Moxxie kicked at the air furiously as one of the remaining hunters lifted him up like a ragdoll and dragged him away, screaming all the while as he twisted and writhed in their grip. Blitzo saw red. His tail snapped like a whip as he leaped forward and bit furiously at the mound of protesting, shaking meat, and a sharp shock grazed the side of his chest before blood gushed from the human's throat as he tore the jugular out with his teeth. Inside, the kid kicked out, doing their best to distract him, but nothing was going to keep him from-

“Moxx! Blitzo!” The head cracked mere inches from his face as Millie slammed a knife into the neck and snapped the spinal cord, and a gurgling scream cut off before two pairs of hands hauled him back from the fresh corpse. He snapped his teeth, heels digging into the damp ground as he strained forward. He needed to dismember it, he needed to tear it to pieces, he needed to fucking destroy it-

“And stay down, you fucking bastards, don’t fucking touch them-“

“It’s- it’s fine, he didn’t hurt me,” Moxxie said, dragging Blitzo back by the arm. “He maybe bruised my arms at best.”

“They’re dead, Blitzo, we can go home.” Millie agreed, and their combined strength forced Blitzo to take a breath, falling limp.

“…So sloppy, the ones with guns didn’t even get a shot in.”

Moxxie sucked in a breath. “About that…” He pressed his fingers to the side of Blitzo’s pecs, and Blitzo groaned out a ‘fuck’.

“It doesn’t look too bad, it should be fine with some painkillers and a tourniquet,” Millie commented. “The hand is much worse.”

Being reminded of that sent a white-hot flare of pain scurrying up his nerves, and Blitzo hissed. “Riiiiight.”

Millie fired off a text, and by the time Blitzo turned around, the portal had opened in front of them. He took one step before nearly eating dirt, and Millie and Moxxie grasped him under the armpits and hauled him through, the office the most welcome sight he’d ever seen.

“What happened?” Loona asked, fingers tightening around the Grimoire.

“It went badly,” Moxxie grunted. “Get the first aid kit.”

Loona didn’t argue.

________________

Well, he was definitely on too many painkillers to be fully healthy for the kid at this point considering how much it took to be anywhere near effective on him, but he wasn’t bleeding out, his hand wasn’t screaming at him anymore, and his shirt had probably gotten ruined by all the stretching out even before his side started bleeding all over it, so…

Okay, yeah, fuck trying to spin it, this just plain sucked shit-flavored asshole. Millie finished tying off the bandage around his hand as he sat in his chair and Moxxie paced around his office.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Come-” Blitzo coughed. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the chills were creeping back up everywhere the blood wasn’t still rushing to, and he couldn’t help but lean closer to Millie and her precious body heat. “-Come on, getting hurt in the field is just part of the job.”

“Yes, but you’re not thinking clearly anymore, and you’re risking-”

“I am so thinking clearly!” Setting aside the fact that if he blinked too much Moxxie duplicated himself again, but he wasn’t about to tell him that.

Moxxie continued as if he hadn’t spoken, rude little shit. “You’re risking yourself, both of us, and, yes, the baby!”

“Oh, and they’re the one that matters here.” Blitzo rolled his eyes, but Moxxie folded his arms, tail swaying like a pendulum and nails drumming on his bicep.

“I know that your feelings about this are mixed, but I would never forgive myself if you went out there and got both of you killed because you’re a stubborn jackass.”

“He’s right,” Millie added.

“Don’t you dare team up on me,” Blitzo snarled, lead settling in the pit of his stomach as Millie stood up, drying her hands off with the towel borrowed from the bathroom- they were going to have to replace that. It had been white with little galloping horses around the bottom, and they were all so covered in black now that you couldn’t even see them anymore. He knew from experience that imp blood never came out of white fabric no matter how hard you scrubbed.

“We will if we have to- I’d do the same for anybody,” Millie said, balling the towel up and dropping it on the desk. “You lasted a lot longer than most people would, but there’s no shame in taking some time off so you don’t end up killin’ the little one before they even get a chance to see the world.”

“What about me, huh? Don’t I get a say in this? This is my company!” He shoved himself off the chair, but Millie pushed him back down. Her hand burnt where it touched his chest.

“C’mon, Blitzo, you need to be resting- I care about you, alright? Both’a us do.”

“Oh, sure, that's why you're not letting me make my own decisions as a grown-ass man." He narrowed his eyes.

“If we didn’t, we’d just let you go out and get yourself killed by the next target who has a gun,” Moxxie retorted. “I’m not going to let you drag all of us down with you, and I’m not going to keep working out in the field with you if you’re going to be a liability!”

“Are you threatening to quit?” Blitzo tried to get up again, and again Millie pushed him back down- far easier than she should have been able to, but if it was the blood loss or the baby weight was anybody’s guess.

“Of course not- maybe? I don’t know!” Moxxie rubbed his forehead. “I just-”

Millie shifted over to him, squeezing his shoulders. “We get what you mean, honey.” She turned back to Blitzo. “I know you wanna always do your best and work hard for IMP, and I’ve got nothing but praise for that, but-”

“But nothing! I can do this, end of story!”

Millie raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps back towards him and poking Blitzo right where she’d just wrapped the gunshot wound, and he couldn’t hold back a pained whine. “Suuuuure you can.”

“If you insist on still coming to work, just-” Moxxie sucked in a breath. “Just take over Loona’s job. Maybe she can help us, but Millie and I handled things fine when you were gone, we can keep things running.”

“Like hell you can!” Icy hands squeezed at his chest as Millie patted his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Blitzo.”

He smacked her hand away. “Don’t tell me I’m useless, I don’t need your fucking pity-”

“But you do need us,” Millie replied. “We want to help, isn’t that enough? There’s only another month and a half or so until they’ll be here, after all. You've got a lot to get sorted, and it's the least we can do.”

Blitzo just stared with wide eyes as his knifed hand screamed with every minute twitch of the nerves and tendons within. Moxxie raised an eyebrow with his arms crossed, and Millie considered the towel on the desk before dropping it in the trash. It left behind little splatters of his blood on the polished oak as he gritted his teeth.

“Fuck both of you.”

(Which meant, unfortunately, ‘you win for now’, and it was only because he was about to pass out in his chair.)

Let it Go (Ch. 1 of ?)

Pairings: platonic avengers team x reader, potential background loki x reader

Words: 1800

Genre/Ratings: -WARNINGS- there will be an (unsuccessful) suicide attempt by reader- chapter will be explicitly marked in advance. Drug (pills) and alcohol abuse, lots of negativity and self loathing. There will be an arc, but said arc is going to start in the eleventh circle of hell and inch up from there.

Summary: *not far enough into this one to give an accurate summary, so this’ll have to be updated eventually. enjoy for now!*

If I see another ad for Frozen, I might go homicidal.

I pass at least five of them as I work through rush-hour Manhattan at a snail’s pace. Smash Hit! Instant Classic! #1 Movie in the World! Awesome. Fantastic. Happy for you, Disney. Now please, dear god, get it the fuck out of my face.

I jerk away from narrowly shoulder-checking a businessman hustling down the sidewalk, speaking rapid-fire into the phone glued to his ear. It’s like a very, very fucked up dream; everyone in the world is in on the joke, and I just didn’t get the invite. Maybe they were spying on me. Sure, it could’ve been inspired by a fairytale, but who knows? I could sue. Demand fifty percent of the profits for copyright infringement. That’d be more than enough to set me up with a cabin in Alaska, somewhere all I’d have to worry about is making friends with the polar bears.

On the subway, I notice someone has Let it Go blaring from their earbuds. No less than three little girls are wearing something blue and covered in glitter. One has a cheap blonde plait clipped into her hair, accented by a snowflake charm dangling from the end. I suppress the urge to rip it off her head.

It isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I want to say. It’s not Disney-dreamy like the mouse has made it out to be, living in a palace and making magical snowmen and singing power ballads about self-acceptance and overcoming your demons. In the real world, you quell those demons with a fistful of benzodiazepines, because if you don’t, something like a car alarm or a slammed door will make spikes of ice splinter through the floor around you. It’s constantly wearing three hoodies at a time, so that way if a stranger on the seat next to you brushes your arm, they don’t immediately get third-degree frostbite. It’s getting a papercut and watching the blood freeze on the tip of your finger, then melt back to liquid when you break it off and toss it away. It’s getting hospitalized when an inner-city charity doctor takes your temperature before you can object and your body temperature is barely higher than freezing, so they pump you full of warm saline and cover you in foil blankets and all that heat makes you sick, so you have to rip the IV out of your arm and walk yourself back to your apartment in your hospital gown while dodging orderlies and strange looks from passerby at 2 AM.

The kid and her parents get off at the next stop. The subway clicks along. I try to make myself smaller as the car fills up with more people.  

Maybe if they’d had Xanax in Arendelle, Elsa wouldn’t have had to deal with all that “conceal, don’t feel” bullshit. She wouldn’t be able to feel anything with all the pills and booze she’d be mainlining. Take it from me, babe, it’s a lot easier to drug those demons away. Much more effective than a song.

Something in me feels a weird flare of pride for handling this… whatever the hell it is better than a fictional cartoon princess. Then I want to laugh, because goddamn, my life is pathetic.

My meeting spot is in a back alley near Bryant Park. Some NYU kid is pawning his Klonopin for party cash, I guess. I think if you’re rich enough to be a frat boy at NYU you probably don’t need the extra fifty from your prescriptions, but whatever. I don’t have a ton of other avenues at this point.

I scan the neon bottle, then shake it open and count the pills inside. “These are only a half milligram? Fifteen.”

“Dude, we said forty.”

“Yeah, for a milligram pill. These will barely last me a week.”

“Twenty.”

“Fine.”

I don’t think the universe agrees with my choices.

The sky splits open with a shriek that balances the world on the edge of a knife. One heartbeat. Two. He and I both look up at the clear blue, unsure. Between the skyline, I see something- somethings- begin pouring from a split in the universe, ugly and black and hungry.

I wrench the bottle from the kid’s hands and run.

Run, run, run, don’t look up, don’t look back, oh jesus what the FUCK IS THIS- Midtown is a nightmare. Not from Friday traffic this time. People are scrambling, screaming and crying, trying to flee the scene. An entire side of a building gets shaved off and falls to the ground like an iceberg. A gas line broke somewhere because everything is hazy with fumes and starts shimmering rainbow colors. I round a corner, cursing and trying to keep my ratty converse on my feet as I dodge rubble and ash- don’t look up don’t look up don’t look up. I can see my breath starting to crystallize around me as my anxiety spikes, and I try to force it down. Don’t think about it. Now is so not the time for that.

In the middle of the street, six brightly clad superheroes stand with grim but determined looks on their faces. There’s Tony Stark in his mechanical suit, Captain America brandishing his shield. The star stands out like a beacon in the smoke. Cool, coolcoolcool, they’ve got this, right? They’ve totally got this. Everything is going to be fine. Everything is going to befineohholyshitthat’sabigalien-

I try to use an overturned car as cover. Dart to one, breathe, press my back to steel and try to shake my body back from shock, wait for a moment of silence between the chaos- run to the next pile of rubble. My footprints are outlined in frost on the cracked pavement, clean white against the ash raining from the sky. As I slam myself up against another car, heaving, I have a prime few of Captain-freaking-America bashing three ugly aliens in the face with his shield, battering them to the ground. He stops for a moment to flex his fingers, wipe some of the grime from his face.

He doesn’t see the alien rushing him from behind, mouth open and yawning in some sort of hideous grin, poised to shove a glowing blue gun against the Captain’s muscly back.

I don’t think. My feet move without my telling them to. I can taste the ash as I dart to the middle of the street, as close as I dare. The air around me is impossibly frigid. I’m not controlling anything at this point, but I can deal with that later. Hopefully.

“DUCK!” I scream as loud as I possibly can over the sound of metal and roaring monsters.

His eyes snap up to meet mine. He heard me, somehow, and then he actually heeds a random girl standing amidst the carnage and hits the deck so fast I can hear the whiplash. It’s hot enough to make my skin boil, but if I stretch my hand out and pull, I can feel something begin to crystallize in my waiting palm-

Fissures crack open in the concrete beneath me. In my hand, a thin lance of ice extends to a deadly point, too weighty for its slim frame, and while I should have all the grace and skill of an alcoholic drug addict, my aim is good enough that the alien now has an unforgiving pole of ice sticking through its breastbone. Frost creeps from the hole in its chest, discoloring its sickly black armor to a grey tint. For a moment, it's suspended in time, unmoving- then gravity takes hold and with one last nightmarish shriek it crumples to the ground in a heap.

Huh. Whaddya know. I flex my fingers, breathing hard. Take that, Elsa. Screw the power of love, I just single-handedly saved a national icon.

Said icon is picking himself up off the ground, a new layer of dust coating the front of his uniform. He looks behind him, at the ugly corpse and the ice that inexplicably hasn’t started to melt in the city’s heat. Then his eyes are on me, hard and curious.

Oh. Fuck.

Instinctively, I pull my hood up further over my head, hopefully obscuring more of my face than before. What did he see? Could he memorize my face? He knows I’m a freak show, that’s for sure. Fuck. My brain kicks in and I run, skidding over broken pavement and letting the sheer terror of a crumbling New York fuel my steps. Either we’ll all be dead by the end of this, or the strange girl with ice coming from her hands will be little more than a hazy memory after all this is said and done. I hope. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it- cold prickles on the back of my neck and pushes me back towards being just another face in the crowd.

  There are over a dozen police blockades to try and control the battlefield, and between them and the rubble raining from the heavens, it takes me what feels like hours to crawl back to my underside of the city. It’s punctuated by the grinding of metal and shattering of glass and sickening cracks of lightning from Midtown, making me flinch and wring my hands deep into my sweatshirts to keep them busy with something other than frosting the ground over. Don’t think about it.

I shove my shoulder into the door, forcing it open, then close it the same way from the opposite side. I flick the locks closed, secure the ball and chains. Each one is encased in frost by the time I’m done, and the doorjamb is clogged with ice. I’m suddenly irrationally thankful that there’s only one window in the apartment. It’s a stupid comfort- those things were leveling skyscrapers, a ratty building like this would be flattened in an instant-

I wrench open the nearest drawer, sending the contents rolling. Bottles clack against each other; pills rattling against the plastic. It’s the most comforting thing I’ve heard all day. I pull one out at random, pop the lid, down it dry. In the back of my mind, the large green monster roars. I shudder and swallow another, this time chasing it with swigs from the obscenely large bottle of booze on the desk. It burns all the way down in the best way, chasing the little orange tablets and promising the sweet release of nothing.  

That should last a day. Maybe more. I fall into the bed, already feeling the combo tug at my system, making me heavy and slow. Maybe Manhattan will still be standing when I wake up. Or better yet, Manhattan will still be standing, but I won’t. I’ve never been that lucky, but it never hurts to hope.

WHO: The Fearless Fifteen + Jillian Golding (NPC) WHAT: Jillian’s Death and the girls’ reaction to it. WHEN: Day 1, Evening NOTE: Just posting for record and so it’s easier to refer back to.

Jillian "Can you guys get your shit together? Jesus. I need to piss. You all better not still be bitching at each other when I get back.” Jillian barely gets five feet away from the group before she clutches her side and falls to the sand. The pain she had assumed was nothing was anything but.

Shane shane rolled her eyes as jillian barked orders at them again. it's not like she and jocelyn didn't do most of the work setting up camp or anything. "getting real sick of this bitch," she muttered to no one in particular, not even realizing that as she said it, the girl collapsed to the ground.

Divya Hearing a noise behind her, Divya turned to look over her shoulder, wondering what the thud was. “Um– shit.” Divya stared at Jillian’s body in horror before calling out to get the rest of the group’s attention. “Guys!” She stood up and went over.

Reyna reyna only glanced over briefly when shane spoke. having to actually pay attention when divya spoke was but a mild inconvenience. she got to her feet and stared, mouth hanging open slightly. "well fuck, did you hex her or something?"

Oona Oona followed Divya’s gaze but felt frozen where she sat, even as Divya got to her feet. “Jillian?” She called out shakily, struck frantic and unhelpful by the sight of Jillian’s body in a heap on the sand.

Divya "Hex her?” Divya repeated incredulously. Like witchcraft? Divya thought as she came up to Jillian’s body. “Jill?” She asked. “Mate?” She knelt down to the sand and patted her on the back. No reaction. “Jillian?”

Shane shane's head spun around at everyone's commotion. "shit, i wasn't serious!" she jumped up and followed everyone over to where jillian fell. "is she breathing?"

Reyna reyna had been kidding, mostly because she thought jillian was just being annoying. apparently not. she got up slowly and walked over to the fallen body. she knelt down to check her pulse. her expression said enough.

Oona Oona's fingers curled around her knees, squeezing hard. She could just make out the expressions of those kneeling around Jillian and her heart jolted. "What's wrong with her?" She called out, finally getting to her feet. "Someone... Hold your hand in front of her mouth. Can you feel her breath?"

Joss Still relatively desperate for the cheerleader's approval, Jocelyn kept an eye on Jill, even after the other's had largely started to ignore her, after she'd dismissed them so rudely. "Oh fuckin' hell" Joss cursed, pulling the collar of her sweatshirt up over her nose as she stood around uselessly, in a panic. She watched the other girls gather to aid their fallen comrade while Joss shifted her feet, stepping no more than a couple of feet in any direction doing nothing. "Did anyone else drink that bloody strawberry shit?" she finally spat out, lowering her sweatshirt from her mouth, ready to come to terms with the fact that she may have accidentally poisoned her new BFF.

Reyna with only some hesitation, she shoved jillian's body over so she was properly lying flat on her back. was no one willing to say it out loud? she didn't want to be the one to do it, so she checked again, pressing two fingers to the girl's neck and then to her wrist. "she's dead." in her shock, she didn't even think of doing cpr. reyna moved back, getting back to her feet. the only thing she could thing about was the fact she'd touched a corpse. "you seriously think you killed her?" she asked jocelyn flatly.

Divya Dead? Divya gulped. Her throat felt tight. Even after Reyna had rolled her over, she looked down at Jillian’s immobile body hoping this was just a massive prank. “Jill..?” She whispered and gave the blonde’s shoulder a small push with the tips of her fingers hoping that would finally get a reaction but it didn’t. No... She thought she’d give Oona’s instruction a go. Hesitantly, she reached over and brought her shaky palm to Jill’s lips. “Uhhh... what is not breathing supposed to feel like?” She asked out loud.

Joss "Oi, what the fuck?" Jocelyn practically squeaked at Reyna's line of questioning, feeling like she was already  being accused of something terrible. Instinctively, she threw her hands in the air, palms open in surrender, "Of course I didn't fuckin' kill her- We were friends," she hesitated a moment, "Are friends" she corrected herself, a sick feeling rising in her stomach. "Yeah, fuck this," she spat out a moment, later, lowering her hands from their raised position and walking away from the group to catch her breath while Divya and Oona performed a seemingly useless vitals check.

Shane shane stood, watching all the girls frantically figure out what to do before joss snapped at reyna and went off. "joss, calm down, where are you going?" she called out to her. seeing the others seemingly giving up on her literally seconds after she dropped, shane went over and got down on her knees. "move over, don't you guys know cpr?" she asked no on in particular before she started doing chest compression. but the only time shane had done this was on a dummy a few years ago, she wasn't even sure if she was pressing hard enough. as much as she hated jillian, she didn't want her to die in this place.

Oona Oona’s mouth opened then closed uselessly as she fell on her knees beside Divya. Not breathing felt a lot like what it sounded like, and she didn’t know how to say that without giving in and accepting what had already been announced: Jillian was dead. Don’t you guys know CPR? Technically speaking, Oona had been taught CPR in health class but every step seemed too puff out of her brain when faced with a real emergency. She inhaled sharply as Shane started the compressions. “I—” She was useless. She turned to Joss' retreating back. “Joss? Take a deep breaths.”

Reyna once upon a time reyna had wanted to be a doctor, but now she was staring at her hands with nothing but disgust. not feeling a pulse, knowing jillian was just a body - or had been, or was. she looked up when shane positioned herself over the body. "you have to-" her voice stuck in her throat. "you have to move your compressions up or you'll break her ribs." she didn't care about what was going on with jocelyn. she wasn't dying.

Joss Jocelyn had barely moved a few feet away before she was drawn back to the group by the sound of her own name from Shane and Clogs. "I'm not gonna stand around and-" she was cut off by the sound of Reyna's voice, her warning. Her ribs. Jill had been clutching her side, just like Cloggy had been except Jill's hadn't gone away, it was more than just a temporary stich. "Hang on, hang on," she insisted quickly, dropping to her knees beside Shane and lifting Jillian's shirt, revealing an unsightly palette of blues, yellows and purples on her skin. She gulped at the sight of the injury. It was clear to her that broken ribs was perhaps the least of Jillian's worries.

Shane shane looked up when reyna pointed out that she needed to move her hands up more. she was probably right, shane hadn't done this in a while. pausing for a second, shane shifted her hands up jillian's chest more before continuing. which was when jocelyn rejoined the group and pulled up her shirt. her compression slowed for a second before finally stopping all together. "wait- was she... bleeding internally all day?" she looked up at divya, wondering if she noticed anything strange about her. well, stranger than her mega bitch attitude.

Divya Divya bumbled to her feet and moved away when Shane stepped in, backing slowly with shaky breaths and unstill hands as she watched the other perform CPR on the blonde. Shit, shit, shit. This all felt like way too much. Instead of do something remotely useful like try and see what was going on with Joss like Oona had or start chest compressions like Shane, she was just standing there like a bloody idiot. She couldn’t even answer promptly when Shane asked her a question. A slightly delay before she answered, “I– I don’t know,” she sputtered. She recalled all of the times throughout the day she asked Jillian if she was alright. She usually got a curt fine and other times was just brushed off. The last time she asked, Jill had snapped and said I swear to God if you ask one more time. "She said she was fine..."

Cora It's too late. CPR isn't normally even effective unless you get ambulance help quickly... Cora stared, more still and silent than she'd been since they'd washed up on this godforsaken island. She's dead. She's dead. It's too late. She won't wake up. Everyone else seemed to be doing something. But all Cora could do right now was stare. She felt sick, and for once she didn't think it was anything to do with the dizzying injury on her head. No, it had far more to do with the memories she couldn't get rid of, the ones that threatened to overwhelm her. She stared and though she was looking at Jillian and the girls trying to save her, she saw another body. Saw herself, begging in vain, crying. Pushing her sister from the room before she could see. Cora knew what death looked like. "It's too late. She's dead." Her voice wasn't loud, her tone was flat. But she was certain. "Her injuries. They're too bad, we can't save her. She's dead."

Reyna "idiots," reyna grumbled under her breath. she couldn't exactly justify the holier-than-thou attitude she had adopted since she had been mentally checked out and unhelpful for the better part of the day, but it was still there. she still stood a few feet from the body, not daring to go near it again. she didn't have it in her to mourn, faced with death she was closed off and angry. why did bad things have to happen to her? why did death follow her around? i already said that. no one cared, she thought ruefully. "so... what are we supposed to do?" she asked. "bury her? throw her in the ocean?" something more gruesome came to mind and she felt like she might through up. her eyes turned skyward — would they be saved?

Joss The blonde inhaled sharply before turning over her shoulder to address Reyna directly, "You reckon you could shut the fuck up for like, two seconds?" she asked rhetorically, her words dripping with venom as they left her lips. The way Reyna had spoken to Joss earlier was one thing, the way she was speaking about a girl who had just died right in front of them was another and she had no patience for it whatsoever. She looked back at Jillian then, gently lowering her shirt out of respect, unsure of what else she could do to aid the poor girl.

Cora In the back of her mind, Cora was half impressed at Wesley's tone. But despite her callousness, Reyna was right. "Bury her. We don't know what is on the island with us. If there's predators... It'll bring them here." She sounded cold, heartless. But it was true. Cora finally looked up, looking at Wesley. Her panic, her anger, her loss of what to do. It was all too familiar. "Besides, we can't just leave her here either."

Oona Oona’s dad hunted, so she’d seen shot-down deer and their empty, dark eyes, and while it made her sick to her stomach she could stomach it. But a human body was something different. She knew this human’s name. She was called Jillian and she pulled Oona out of the ocean. Until now, everyone’s survival had seemed like the best of omens. If they could survive that—all of them—then they could survive what came next until rescue. She tried to drown out the mutterings and arguments of the other girls, and tried to swallow this new reality, and as Joss lowered Jillian’s shirt back down, Oona reached out and closed her eyes. It made it look she might’ve been sleeping. "I agree with Cora," she said, though the logic of it all almost seemed inhumane and her heart clenched as she looked down at Jillian's face. But they did have to be logical about it. "Not too close to the ocean. The waves might... wash away the sand and unbury her or something, right?"

Reyna reyna was fully aware that she sounded harsh, but she also knew she was right. a glare at joss was sufficient enough for the time being. she did, however, shut the fuck up for all of thirty seconds. "maybe the top of the beach," she suggested. "anyone have something hard we can shovel with?"

Divya “So, we need to– to move her is what you’re saying?” A redundant question but one she just felt like she had to ask. Maybe saying it out loud would help her come to terms with the reality. Divya blinked, tears rolling down her eyes as she did so. She sniffled, bringing a hand up to wipe the wetness on her cheek away. “How are we going to do this?”

Cora "Yes. We need to move her. We don't know how high the tide is here." There would be signs, but Cora couldn't remember them right now. Her head was spinning faster and faster. "We might just have to dig with our hands." Really turning the childhood games of digging massive holes--even burying yourself in them--into things she did not want to think about. Again. "But further up is better."

Joss Joss glanced at Shane briefly; she had done a lot of inflating and flexing in an effort to claim her stake as the alpha soccer captain in the group. She realised that all it has really done now was advertise that she and her athletic counterpart were perhaps the best for the job of lugging Jillian down the beach.

Reyna there was some guilt, but mostly reyna was just trying to be practical. it had yet to sink in that jill was actually a person and not just now, for want of a better description, dead weight. couldn't she have dropped down somewhere more convenient- closer to the jungle perhaps? reluctantly she suggested, "a gravediggers team and a moving team?"

Shane shane ran her hand through her hair as everyone started trying to make a plan for what to do with jillian's body. she finally just up from where she was kneeling next to her and took a step backwards, sucking in a shaky breath. "further up is the best idea," she agreed with cora. looking over at joss, she knew that they were probably the strongest out of the group and would be able to carry most of her weight. "yeah, i can help move."

Oona Oona sat back and felt her eyes sting. She cleared her throat and finally drew her gaze away from Jillian’s motionless face. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense,” she said shakily, for lack of anything else to really say. “I can... help dig?" Her suggestion was hesitant because neither option was particularly attractive, but she'd do anything to feel less useless.

Joss ”Can we just not call it a gravediggers team please like- fuck,” she was crude, she had a foul mouth but she was genuinely perturbed by the choice of words. She pressed her lips together then, nodding her head in agreement with Shane, “I can help move,” she echoed, without realising she had repeated the other girl verbatim.

Jenny It’s not like they’ve never seen a dead body before, but it was the very fact that they had that kept Jenny frozen as everything unfolded. Through the efforts to figure out what was wrong, through the CPR, through the decision Jill was dead and the decision of what to do with her body. Totally frozen in place. But then deciding on /teams/. What a crude way to decide what needed to be done. “I can dig” they announced, forcing themselves to move forward. There was no fucking way they were volunteering to touch the body.

Divya “I’ll help... dig too,” Divya spoke up. The moment she said it, she felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t believe this is what they were talking about right now. She stared at Jillian’s lifeless body and clenched her jaw, hands curling into fists at her sides. This felt wrong. This felt so, so wrong.

Reyna reyna swallowed nervously before making the executive decision to walk up the beach to find the perfect gravesite. god, it was so morbid. but someone had to do something. what happened when it finally got dark? she wasn't sharing a plot where she would have to touch jill again. she  had involuntarily made herself the leader of the gravediggers. or rather - not gravediggers upon joss' request. she walked until she found somewhere that the tide probably wouldn't touch. she didn't ask permission as she sank to her knees and dug her hands into the earth.

Shane was it really going to be the two soccer captains being the only two able and willing to move jillian? she understood though, this was a dead body after all, no one in their right might would be too keen on touching her. with a sigh, shane walked over to jocelyn. “how the fuck are we supposed to do this?” one take her arms other legs? shane was strong but all her strength was in her legs, not so much her arms.

Joss Jocelyn's mouth twisted as a pensive expression consumed her features. She adjusted her ponytail, tightening the bind around it before she planted her hands on her hips, her eyes glued to Jill. She was torn from her racing thoughts when Shane spoke up and she was admittedly glad to have a question to answer, rather than the hundreds of unanswered questions swirling around in her head. "Yep," she confirmed with a nod, "Best way to do it," she agreed. She was no stranger to this, oddly enough, she'd help haul plenty of her drunk ass friends into bed once they'd passed out drunk on somebody's couch or floor or even their lawn. "I'll go under the arms," she decided, for no reason reason at all. Perhaps it was because she'd rather stare at Shane than spend even a second of their journey glancing at Jill's lifeless face.

Shane shane nodded when jocelyn made her pick, almost a little jealous that she didn’t pick that first. now she was going to have to look at jill’s face the whole way to wherever reyna went off to. walking around to jillian’s legs, she squatted down in between them and wrap her arms around her tights. “not exactly how i imagined i’d be getting in between someone’s legs at the retreat,” she muttered under her breath sarcastically. bad timing, but shane never did have a filter even in normal situations. “ready?” she asked louder to joss.

Joss Joss looked over to where Reyna had started digging and though she'd told her to shut the fuck up just minutes beforehand, she was admittedly impressed by the other girl's effort and progress. She looked back at Shane when she spoke, her eyebrows lifting with surprise at the openness of the comment. "That's one way to interpret female bonding," she uttered. Was she shocked that the soccer jock with the oversize shirt and Adidas sweats was into girls? No. Was she shocked that she was so chill about it? Hell yeah. She was pretty sure there were girls on her team that would rather drop out of school forever than be caught eyeing up another girl in the locker room. Damn. With her words tied up in her throat somewhere she hummed her agreement instead of saying it as she couched to get her arms under Jill's and hoist her up. "On three? One...two..."

Shane she couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out at joss’ comment. it was such an inappropriate time to be making jokes but it almost made this all a little easier to handle. it helped her from panicking about the fact that they were about to move a literal dead body. one of a girl that just a few hours ago, shane wanted to punch. focus shane, she thought to herself, looking at jocelyn with determination. “okay,” shane nodded, making sure she had a good grip on her legs and on three, the two of them lifted jillian off the ground. harder than lifting someone who was passed out, but not impossible. “i’ll direct you where to go, okay?”

Jenny Jenny followed Reyna's lead, thankful to have a few moments of not having to look directly at Jillian's body and rather dig her a grave. They pushed the sleeves of their hoodie up to their elbows as they dropped to their knees opposite Reyna, alongside the other diggers. They couldn't dig a deep grave, rescue was coming, and someone would just have to dig her up again. But it had to be deep enough that the tide or an animal couldn't pull her free. Jenny assumed someone would tell them when they should stop, just like someone had told them that they had to deal with the body. And so they simply dug, and would do– while trying desperately not to think about Jillian and everything about this situation, until someone told them otherwise

Cora Cora didn't want to touch Jillian's body more than necessary. So she followed Reyna too, kneeling beside her to start pulling sandy dirt up, focusing entirely on that task instead of everything else going on. As much as one could when literally digging a shallow grave. And when the thought of would this be the last grave kept creeping in. She kept her face neutral, not looking at anyone else as she dug. Cora might not like these girls--or even know them--but she didn't want them to die. The list of people she actively wished ill on was short, and no one on this island was included.

Divya I can’t believe we’re doing this. I can’t believe she’s dead. The two sentences fought of space at the forefront of Divya’s mind as she knelt with the girls and created a place for Jillian’s body to rest in. She tried hard not to think about what she was doing, hoping soon that she would just zone out and move mindlessly until someone told her to stop. She dug and dug, waited and waited for the moment for come, but it just didn’t and she had to break the silence herself. “Is this–” She sniffed, wiping her sleeve against her itchy nose. “–deep enough? How deep is the–” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘grave’. “–this supposed to go?”

Reyna reyna dug in silence for a long time. her fingers ached from pulling at clumps of sand that no one had probably ever touched. she would have kept digging forever if divya hadn't spoken and broken the unsettling silence. she glanced over to the others who were carrying the body and then looked back down at the hole. she nodded. "i think is is." she moved out of the way, moving from her knees so she was sitting properly a few inches away from the freshly dug grave. they just had to hope it didn't become a graveyard. it only just then hit her that they would actually have to bury her. as in put all of the sand back on top of her. she felt sick at the thought. but what had to be done had to be done.

Joss Jocelyn nodded her head before she could find her voice. A moment or so passed before she could utter a simple “Got it,” in response to Shane’s question, though it was likely rhetorical. With her back to the direction they were headed, Joss focused on the shoreline and then on Shane, finding it easier to watch the microscopic changes in the other girl’s expression, rather than think about what was happening or what they were doing. Jill was heavier than Joss expected, not impossible to shift but more difficult that she had anticipated. Dead weight, they called it. Now, Joss was starting to understand the term in a more literal sense.

Cora It was surprisingly quick work with all of them doing it. Or maybe Cora just wasn't that aware of time right now. When Reyna said it was deep enough, she stopped, sitting back on her heels with her hands in her lap. It took her a couple more seconds to realise she ought to get out of Wesley and Shane's way. Make a path to the grave. She scrambled to her feet and backed up a couple steps. It was then, glancing back at the body being lugged towards them, that the memories became overwhelming. People always did say that simply pushing everything down wasn't healthy. Nausea swelled in her. She couldn't be sick right here. Cora walked as quickly as she could away, but she only got about twenty metres before she fell to her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the sand. That bloody pink drink, she thought to herself, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. If anyone asked, she'd blame her head injury. She wasn't even 100% sure it hadn't been the cause. Or, at least, part of it.

For @slashthedice Frisky February

Day 10: Double Penetration

Brahms Heelshire x Male s/o x Malcolm (WHEEZES i finally did it. the truth is i had like 2k of this written but i’m a nightmare who only uses notepad to write so i copied over it)

"Malcolm, everything's under control. Can you just calm down?" It's a bald face lie if you've ever told one. No, nothing was really under control. And really, despite the murderous glint in Brahms' eyes, you were far more concerned about Malcolm bolting out the door and calling the police. And it's one bitch of a task.

Brahms possessively grabs at your trousers, the only thing you still have on really, with a body laying at your feet. Neck bent at an unnatural angle, and skin rapidly paling.

Malcolm, who is only in a t-shirt and hastily pulled back up pants, pulls at his hair, pacing in the game room, where only an hour earlier, and entire story was playing out. It's crazy how rapidly things could play out.

Malcolm had come over to deliver the groceries, as is usual, and Brahms had been acting like a right brat, you invited him to stay later for some drinks - maybe even stay the night if he's had too much too drink.

As much as you love Brahms, he's incredibly possessive and could stand for some competition, and Malcolm is probably the last person he'd try to kill, other than you. No Malcolm means no food. If he wants you, he's going to have to try more than demanding your attention.

And try he has. He tries and makes sweets that end up tasting horrible, but are endearing nevertheless. Sometimes he'll come to you with a bouquet of wild flowers he found in the forest, and honestly him leaving the house of his own volition is far greater of a present than the flowers. Or he'll make collages from magazines and books and various sketches and leaf presses that are honestly breathtaking.

Brahms will try and be more considerate of your feels, and when he would normally lash out at you, he'll restrain himself and bite his tongue instead.

But the night before Brahms was an absolute terror. Clinging to you all day, tugging you around to wherever he wants you, arguing with you against every turn, and throwing a tantrum when you told him no good night kiss since he was a bad boy today. A tantrum which included blindly throwing a lamp at the wall, realizing how terrified you were, and promptly feeling you up and trying for sex when he realized his mistake.

It seems like most of your punishments as of late have had some sort of sexual edge to them. But nothing other than threatening to leave him works, and you weren't about to constantly lord that over him.

The immediate solution was to bring Malcolm over, and have a nice snog with him on the couch right where Brahms would have a nice view of everything from one of his hidey holes. While you were planning for Malcolm to fuck you, he flipped the tables by pulling you on top of him and looking at you with eyes that undeniably said I want you.

So you worked down him, worshiping his body, rucking up his shirt to kiss every inch of skin and got rid of his trousers, and had only just pulled down his pants and swallowed him when there was a knocking at the front door. Odd, considering how late it was and how secluded the house is. But in a stupidly giddy rush, you jump up to get it, since teasing Malcolm didn't run risk of him having a fit.

Not a minute later, you walk back into the game room, a burly man wrapping his arm around your neck, and a gun pressed to the small of your back. He tells Malcolm, who's scrambling to pull his pants up, to go get all of the valuables in the house, or else you are getting shot.

Malcolm freezes, and that's when Brahms starts up, rattling the walls and making the house groan in a way you've never been able to figure out how he did. It catches the would be robber off guard enough to rush out of the wall and tackle him to the floor, snapping his neck before he can aim and fire off the gun.

Once everything has calmed down, Brahms' anger is pointed at Malcolm, having found nowhere to melt away. "He's mine," he hisses, jerking you away from Malcolm, who looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

"Are you bloody... What the hell?!"

And that leaves you where you are now, just barely restraining Brahms, and Malcolm about to dart from the house.

"Malcolm, this is Brahms. The real Brahms, who never died, and has been living in the walls the entire time," you tell him, as if you were explaining why the sky is blue. "We're... involved, and he's rather protective of me."

"Involved?" he lets out, exasperated. "You a-and Brahms? Then why? Why me? Christ you're dating a murderer..." He stops tugging on his hair and cards his fingers through it instead.

"Because Brahms is a brat," you stare at him pointedly. "And I'm not exclusively his."

"No you’re mine," he pulls you closer against his chest. "He's not allowed to be with you because I'm the only one allowed to love him."

Malcolm takes a good, long look at the two of you, silent for a few moments. His lips move as if he's about to say something, but he stops, trying to form the perfect sentence. All five stages of grief cross his face in the minute he tries to recollect himself. He finally resolves himself and wipes his hands down his face. "Why not both of us?"

"Because I own him," Brahms seethes.

"No Brahms, why don't you have both of us?"

And it's that which really gives Brahms a pause. He lets go of you, and tilts his head to the side as he walks up to Malcolm. Part of you wants to jump and stop him, but another makes you stand still. Brahms raises a hand, letting his finger tips run along Malcolm's cheek. "Why?"

Malcolm stands there, only slightly flinching away from Brahms' touch. "Because, well, he likes both of us, and don't you want him to be happy? Look at him, he's steadfast enough to stand there unshaken after you just killed someone, he'd never leave you. So make him, give him everything he wants. A-and you're obviously devoted, and passionate, and... Well I'll be frank, you're bloody hot."

Brahms is thrown for a loop again, frozen in place as he searches Malcolm's eyes for something. "You think- you think I'm attractive?" Of course that's what draws Brahms attention.

"Well yeah, you're tall, got some nice muscles, and all that body hair..." Malcolm whistles, miming over Brahms chest. "If you were down for us to tag team you, I definitely wouldn't say no."

The recovery and adaptability of Malcolm is truly a thing you can marvel at. Alongside his ass. What was that old saying about bravery and stupidity? At least it's better than Malcolm running off, so you take it with grace.

You come up from behind Brahms, stepping over the corpse on your way. You wrap your arms around his middle sliding your hands just barely into waistband. You struggle to rest your head on his shoulder to whisper in his ear. "How about it Brahmsy? I know how much you like beind stuffed with my cock, and that you can never get enough of it. I can see you when you try fingering yourself at night. You'll never feel as full is both Malcolm and I were inside you, at the same time."

You can hear how fast Brahms is breathing under his mask, and you bet his face is beet red. Your wandering hands don't help much with that either. He says something, first so quiet you can hardly hear him, and when asked to repeat, he raises his voice. "Yes please."

As you find you, Brahms does not like Malcolm preparing him, so instead Malcolm busies himself sucking you off while you stretch and prepare and increasingly frenzied Brahms with what is probably half a bottle of lube. You tuck your thumb into your hand, managing your entire hand inside of him. When Brahms looks down, eyes wide, he jerks his hip as if he were about to cum. But he clenches his eyes shut and shudders, holding everything back.

Another adventure for another day, you say to yourself.

Brahms is so strung out that he's extremely malleable, and allows you to position him wherever you want. He clings to your shoulder as you and Malcolm line up your position, both sitting up and facing each other and pressed together so your cocks were right next to each to each other.

Malcolm does the honor of using the other half of the bottle of lube to slick up both of your cocks with one of his nicely sized hands. His cock is only slightly longer than yours, but not much thicker.

Brahms, as impatient as he does, doesn't wait for you to say anything before sinking down on your cock, whining and shoving his masked face into your neck. He rides it for a few thrusts before Malcolm is nudging at his entrance. Brahms wasn't exactly tight, but you're not entirely sure how well this is going to go.

The entire process of getting Malcolm shoved in next to you, Brahms shakes and sweats profusely, digging his nails into your shoulders. He tries to keep himself quiet, likely biting on his bottom lip, but he lets out soft moans and hushed "ah!"'s. They way he wiggles his hips while Malcolm pushes inside, whether it's to get comfortable or for more friction you don't know, really tests your self control.

Once Malcolm gets inside, and fully pushes himself all the way inside so Brahms is seated on both of your cocks, he lets out a loud, long wail.

Neither of you want to move, relishing in how tight of a fit it is. You can't even begin to imagine how it must feel for Brahms. "You're such a good boy Brahmsy," you whisper in his ear. "You're taking both of us so well. Do you like how you're so full of the both of us?"

Brahms can't really say anything, but he nods.

You pry Brahms off of yourself and push him so he's reclining against Malcolm's chest, who takes him with open arms. Really it's only so you can get a better view of Brahms writhing when you start pumping in and out. And a show you do get from him.

When Malcolm jumps in and slowly starts figuring out out a pace between the two of you. In and out. Malcolm presses his lips to Brahms' shoulder, muffling his own noises. Brahms' back archs, as he's really unable to do anything against the tide of pleasure. He starts twitching you run your hands along his chest and tweak his nipples, pinching them harshly, then ducking down to lathe them with your tongue.

Your own orgasm catches you off guard. As Brahms got more and more wound up, and Malcolm further got lost in the sensation of Brahms, it seemingly came out of nowhere. You hunched over and let out a sharp gasp, spilling your seed deep inside Brahms. The feeling of Malcolm still thrusting is too much, so you slip out, fight of the haze of drowsiness, and focus entirely on Brahms.

You kneel between Brahms' and Malcolm's legs, and slip a few fingers in beside Malcolm fucking into the mess of lube and cum inside of Brahms, spilling it down onto the bedspread (which Brahms will, of course, clean).

"Please," Brahms gasps breathlessly, head thrown back and leaning on Malcolm's shoulder. "Please, please let me cum, I've been a good boy, I have," he begs.

"Shhh, you have been very good for me and Malcolm. Such a good boy. Just be a good boy a little while longer, until Malcolm cums.

Brahms sucks in a shuddering breath, as if he were trying to resolve himself, but luckily for him, Malcolm didn't take to long to cum, and Christ does Malcolm make the sweetest moan you've ever heard. He floods inside Brahms, his seed mixing with yours. It doesn't quite make Brahms finish, but you can he's close, so you drop down and take Brahms into your mouth without any mercy until his back bows and he's sobbing and Malcolm, who looks like he's about to drop off any second kisses his neck and plays with his nipples.

Brahms fully slumps back against Malcolm, who goes him and falls back against the bed. His dick slips from Brahms, and despite Brahms shuddering at all of the cum rushing out, Malcolm settles in spooning Brahms quite contently.

As you've had to learn countless times with Brahms, right now isn't the time for a deep clean, but rather a cursory one with wet wipes, and you crawl in bedside Brahms, carefully removing his mask. He makes a noise a protest, but that's quickly smothered with a kiss. "Give Malcolm a goodnight kiss Brahmsy," you murmur, tangling your legs together, and wrapping your arms around him, just bellow Malcolm's.

Brahms looks like he's about to snark something in return, but he huffs instead when you raise an eyebrow. He leans his head over his shoulder, so an already half-asleep Malcolm press a deep, sensual kiss to Brahms' lips that under any other circumstance would get you riled up.

Oh yes, this could work. This could work very well.